


Wiztober 2019

by YourTrueNemesis



Series: Wizard101: The Soulshard Saga [1]
Category: Wizard101
Genre: Also note: I'm only on Celestia so I'm not gonna know everything, Also vague self hatred... nothing too bad though, Angst, Based on the video game, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Found Family, Gen, Lots of personal headcannons, M/M, Oof yeah, Prompt Fill, Tags will update as this goes along, Wiztober 2019, blood tw, maybe? - Freeform, not sure yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-15 02:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 44,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20858996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourTrueNemesis/pseuds/YourTrueNemesis
Summary: 31 days of prompts for Wizard101.Featuring my personal head-cannons as well as literally all my OCs.





	1. Chapter 1

Ryan wasn’t supposed to be a necromancer. No one was supposed to be a necromancer, and after the battle with Malistaire, Ambrose had decided that--since they had faced off against a necromancer so well--they were a Theurgist.

Ambrose had been particularly excited when it was revealed that Ryan could see auras--a rare trait in wizards--that allowed them to accurately cast their spells. But whatever Ambrose had been expecting from the student who had scared off Malistaire hadn’t panned out. They couldn’t seem to make their plants grow in gardening, and every damage spell they tried ended up fizzling. Ryan was alright at healing spells, but rubbish at damage and gardening and everything else theurgists were supposed to excel at.

So the administration let them switch their elective to monstrology in the hopes that the accidents would stop, and Professor Wu spent hours of extra study trying to help them master the art of using life spells to do damage. Nothing worked. So Ryan stopped trying so hard. They abandoned their tutoring sessions, and stopped showing up to all their classes, and instead elected to spend their time exploring the streets and alleys of Wizard City… or at least, they explored the ones that they were allowed to enter.

One day, whilst loafing around Triton avenue, they had spotted a necromancer walking down the street. Malorn Ashthorn, a man with a bit of a dark reputation. He had been Malistaire’s top student, and now taught the rag tag group of necromancers that had once been his fellow pupils. The students met beneath the Grandfather tree as they lacked a proper classroom, and Malorn always seemed too busy to do things like explore Triton.

As Ryan watched, Malorn ducked into a tower just across the street, looking back and forth as though afraid someone might spot him (as he should be, the towers had been condemned since Malistaire’s departure). They momentarily considered reporting him to a professor, but decided on a whim to follow him into the tower.

“Ashthorn what are you doing! The tower is--” Ryan stopped talking as they saw exactly what was inside the tower. Malorn was unconscious, his deck of death spells scattered across the floor. The room seemed to be empty apart from the necromancer on the floor, and Ryan quickly stooped to pull Malorn over their shoulder and bring him back to Wizard City. But Malorn was far too heavy for the thirteen year old to pick up, and Ryan ended up dragging the older boy to the door before remembering the spilled spell deck.

They trotted over, and began to pick up the cards, many of which Ryan didn’t recognize: vampire, ghoul, death trap, banshee… necromancer spells. The hairs on the back of Ryan’s neck stood on end, and they quickly spun around, only to come face to face with a skeleton. Ryan had seen skeletons before, they were all over unicorn way, but they’d never seen a skeleton quite like this.

It was dressed in black metal armor, and held a matching shield and cutlass, and as Ryan stared at it, it began to talk.

“You cannot stop us, Wizard! The corruption of the Fairies is just the beginning of Malistaire’s plans. Soon, Wizard City will fall and there isn’t anything anyone can do about it.” It then let out a booming laugh, confusing given the apparent lack of lungs.

“Fairies? What? I’m just trying to--”

“Wait. You mean that you aren’t here to stop the fairy corruption?”

“No! I just followed Malorn in here!” The skeleton paused, pondering.

“Ah yes, Young mister Ashthorn. He was supposed to lead us to war. No matter, I can defeat you easily.” And he began to summon a battle sigil, skeletal fingers forming familiar patterns.

“No no no!” Ryan shouted, but found themself drawn into the sigil, standing in the circle marked with a sun. They’d never been part of a real battle, not after the first one with Malistaire. The sigils in the dueling arena were reserved for higher level students, and they’d always been careful to stick to the sidewalks on their adventures into Triton Avenue and Unicorn Way, so they weren’t prepared to be sucked into the sigil with nothing but a wand and Malorns discarded spells.

Not knowing what else to do, Ryan cast a death trap--a spell that at least closely resembled the life ones they’d worked with. The card fluttered to the sigil, and sunk into the swirling energy. A metal trap sprung up and began to slowly rotate around the feet of Rattlebones.

Ryan had always been good with traps--it helped to be able to see others auras--but unfortunately, traps were useless if you couldn’t do damage. There was a high pitched giggle, and Rattlebones summoned a pixie. The corrupted fairy, flew is a tight circle, before cocking her head and reaching out her hands. Purple light began to pour from Ryan’s chest, and they found themself stumbling forward from within the confines of their circle. It didn’t hurt all that much, but then again it was a first level spell.

Back to Ryan’s turn. Malorn’s spell deck was clearly stacked for monstrology though, and Ryan had to discard about four Extract Undead cards before they found a spell that they could use with two pips. A Ghoul. Ryan had never seen it in action, never really even heard of it. And it was a second level spell. Ryan could barely do first level life damage without fizzling, and they were supposed to pull off a second level death spell.

They closed their eyes, and inhaled deeply. With closed eyes, Ryan could Rattlebones’ aura, could hear it, could smell it. It wasn’t like a human aura. Human auras were all unique, and Rattlebones, despite the armor he wore, was far from unique. He was a skeleton, and like all skeletons he had a cold, dry aura, that buffeted Ryan’s inner eye with persistent pressure. They’d been getting better at sensing auras, but they still needed to concentrate in order to fully make them out.

The trap had latched on to a hole in the protective bubble, widening it so that a spell would find its mark easier. All Ryan had to do was time the casting correctly and it would hit.

Now. Ryan dropped the card, wand already shaping the unfamiliar symbol of the skull. It felt right to flourish just a bit on the final stroke, right in a way the curls of the leaf never quite did. Ryan finished the rune, fully expecting it to dissolve into black sparks.

It didn’t. The spell clanked in success and a rotting corpse rose from the ground. It hovered for a moment, arms spread wide, before slamming to the earth (the sigil was carpeted with grass now, and tombstones sprung up from the edges) in a crouch. The shovel wooshed as the ghoul spun it around its head, before focusing a blast of chilling energy at the armored skeleton. Bones and metal shook as the ghoul drained its life force. The ghoul then turned back to Ryan, and they wondered for a moment whether or not the spell had backfired after all. But when it pointed its shovel at Ryan once more, instead of draining them, it pushed Rattlebones’ life force into them.

It felt like being dunked in cool water, and it lifted Ryan off their feet, a parody of the ghoul’s rising pose. When the energy was gone, and the ghoul had sunk once again into the battle sigil, Ryan fell back into a fighting stance. They looked up to see Rattlebones.

Or well… what was left of Rattlebones.

A pile of bones and armor lay in the circle of the dagger, the feet still comically left standing. Rattlebones’ head was still talking though, and continued to talk even after the sigil had dispersed.

“I will have my revenge wizard! You cannot stop my fairy army. I will be back, and when I do--”

“Oh shut up.” Ryan stalked quickly across the room, and with a harsh kick, sent Rattlebones’ skull flying in a rather impressive arc. They brushed off their hands and retreated to collect the spent spell cards, now scattered across the mouldering hardwood floor where Ryan had stood moments ago.

They shuffled Malorn’s deck again, and turned back to the unconscious boy. Or rather, the previously unconscious boy, who was now shakily sitting up, his face the perfect image of shock and awe.

“I’m… I’m sorry Ashthorn. Here’s your deck back I didn’t mean to--”

“No no… keep it. You’re a natural.”

“But… I’m not a necromancer.”

“Would you like to be?” Ryan thought back to the battle. The ghoul had sprung for their fingertips like it had always been meant to. Ryan took out their own deck, and flipped an Imp card between their fingers. Already they felt their magic recoiling. They’d always thought that the reason for it was their inability to do damage, but maybe…

“Yeah. Yeah I think I would.”

* * *

The conversation with Ambrose had been… awkward. Malorn had done most of the talking, a hand of Ryan’s shoulder keeping them steady at his side. But things had been… mostly cleared up, Ryan’s schedule (though unfortunately not their pronouns) had been changed in the ledger, and they’d been given a set of black and silver robes which they now clutched to their chest.

“Where… where are we going?” The two wizards were walking through the commons, drawing the disgruntled looks of passing students. Silver and black robes always drew stares, but the when the idiot first year Theurgist--so dumb they couldn’t cast an imp--was clutching a pair to their chest and walking side by side with the professor of necromancy? That was a sight to gossip about.

“Well, I figured since you’re gonna be a necromancer and whatnot, you might want to meet the rest of the class. If you’re up for it that is…” Ryan swallowed hard and crushed the robes tighter to themself,

“Maybe? I mean…” They coughed, “Do you think they’ll like me?” Malorn chuckled, and slung a friendly arm across Ryan’s shoulders.

“Kiddo, they’re gonna love you.” Relaxing somewhat as they entered the tunnel to Ravenwood, Ryan asked,

“So, what you said earlier about me keeping your deck?”

“Meant every word.”

“Yeah but… I have no idea what some of these are, much less how to use them.”

“Ry, you used a ghoul today. You’ve been here for less than a month. I doubt even Ambrose could’ve used a second level spell after that little training. You’re gonna be a kick ass necromancer.” The thought warmed Ryan, and the pair spent the rest of the walk to Ravenwood in an amicable silence.

The circular district was always cast in dappled sunlight, in much the way that Triton avenue was always rainy, and Unicorn way was always unbearably warm and humid. It was kept that way by magic, end even in the early evening, the shadows from Bartleby were just full enough to provide a beautiful working atmosphere.

Just before Ryan was about to round the trunk of Bartleby and arrive at the usual meet up for the necromancers, Malron stopped them and turned to face them, making sudden, jarring eye contact.

“So uh. Ryan. I know that they’re gonna love you--obviously they’re gonna love you--but you need to know that they’re a little… strange. Comes with the territory I suppose.”

“I mean, we’re all a little weird.”

“Not like my necromancers…” Malorn sighed, sounding in that moment like a proud, if exasperated parent. “Well, I guess you’ll see.” Malorn and Ryan rounded the tree, and the professor called out, “Guys! I’d like for you to meet someone.” Spread before them was a group of wizards in matching black and silver robes that all looked up at the scrawny kid in Theurgist green when they arrived. “Guys, this is Ryan. They’re a necromancer. Ryan, these are the necromancers.”

“Hey…” Ryan muttered, sinking into themself. Malorn moved to stand protectively behind them, hands coming down on Ryan’s shoulders.

“Anyone got a problem with them?” Malorn asked, clearly challenging his friends to say something. The necromancers appraised Ryan for a moment, seemingly serious, before one by one they broke out in peals of giddy laughter. “Hello? Anyone?” Malorn asked again.

“Sorry Malorn, we wanted to see how long we could keep it up. Of course we don’t have a problem.” A short boy with a blonde ponytail said “I’m Flint, Flint Skyrider.” He had a million watt smile, and was seated in the lap of a curvy girl with dyed pink hair.

“I’m Roslyn." she said, "Nice to meet you Ryan! They them pronouns right?”

“Y-yeah!” Ryan said brightly.

“Oh sick!” called another necromancer, this one with a dark bob and an angular face. “Nice to have a pronoun buddy. I’m Angel.”

“Hi!” a petite girl with long dark curls bounded up to them, smiling broadly and dragging another girl by the hand, “I’m Alexandria! And this is my girlfriend” She lingered on the word girlfriend, “Sarai!” The second girl--Sarai--chuckled,

“Must you tell everyone we meet that I’m your girlfriend?” Alexandria’s face fell into a pout.

“I’m just so happy though…” Sarai struggled to contain her smile before letting go of her girlfriend’s hand and tackling her to the ground. She unleashed a vicious tickle attack, and peppered kisses all over Alexandria’s face.

“Woah! PDA!” One of the boys called.

“Shut up ‘Lijah” Sarai called over the peals of her girlfriends laughter, “Don’t be a prude.” The boy sighed.

“Sorry about them,” he said, stepping forward to shake Ryan’s hand “I’m Elijah Shadowspear. Resident spoilsport.” Ryan shifted the robes to one arm in order to shake Elijah’s slightly sweaty hand.

“Hello!” Ryan jumped as a voice chirped almost directly in their ear. They turned on the spot and came almost nose to nose with a willowy blonde girl. She was hunched over at their height, and when she stood up straight Ryan realized that she had to be almost six foot. “I’m Iridium. You must be Ryan. She poked their cheek, seeming to inspect them. “Oh you’re cool.” Ryan was more than a little confused as Elijah pulled Iridium away from them.

“Don’t scare the new kid Ridi.”

“I’m a necromancer, it’s what I do!” She flounced across the little group, pulling out of his grip. She flopped down next to a brooding boy. She laid her head on his shoulder prompting him to shake her off. She instead laid down on the grass, and flopped her legs across his lap. The boy in question rolled his eyes, but began to tap out a rhythm on her calves anyway. He winced as he moved his right arm. “Marcus!” called Iridium “Are you hurt again?”

“What? No!” snapped the boy--Marcus. “Well, maybe… yes okay? I got caught twice in Unicorn Way on the way here.”

“God Marc, you’re an idiot.” Another boy wearing square glasses huffed, pulling out a roll of bandages and a vial of red liquid. He began to roll up Macus’ sleeve, provoking another wince from him.

“I’m not--ow--not an idiot Liam.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah so?” Liam shook his head and unstoppered the vial with his teeth.

“Drink this dummy.” Marcus grumbled, but did as he was instructed. Gagging at the taste.

“What the hell did you put in this?”

“I didn’t put anything in it.” Liam said, tying a bandage firmly around Marcus’ upper arm. “I got it from Valerian’s stash.” Marcus spluttered.

“Valerian’s stash? What the hell dude! You know he never labels anything! This could be a polymorph potion for all you know!”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Ryan must have looked confused as they tried to follow the fast paced argument, because there was a soft chuckle as a boy with perfect brown curls pointed down to the blue fringed head in his lap.

“This is Valerian. Local potioneer. Don’t take from the stash unless you’re ready for the consequences.” As he said this, Marcus began to hiccup uncontrollably, causing Liam and Iridian to burst out laughing. “It was a collective decision to slip him one of his own sleeping draughts about an hour ago. We’re gonna pay for it when he wakes up, but it’s for the best. He flipped the blue bangs off the other boys forehead, seemingly lost in thought. “I’m Gabriel by the way.” He said, looking up to make appraising eye contact with Ryan. “You, can call me Gabe.”

“Wait what!” Roslyn called, “How come they get to call you Gabe? You never let anyone call you Gabe!”

“I do so let people call me Gabe.”

“You let Valerian call you Gabe, there’s a difference.” Gabe huffed, flushing slightly at the comment.

“Well…” said Malorn, I think you’ve met just about everyone. Except… wait. Where’s--” A loud whoop split the air, and Ryan found themself dragged down sharply into a headlock. Knuckles dragged through their hair and a brass voice called out.

“Who’s the new kid Malorn? You starting a home for wayward Theurgists?” The headlock was released and they found themself face to face with a smiling girl with a blood red ponytail. Her amber eyes flashed with mirth as she picked up their crumpled robes from where they’d dropped them.

She dropped her arms over their shoulders, and braced her chin against the crown of Ryan’s head.

“Cori, this is Ryan. Ry, meet Cori Roseblood. I’m sorry about her.”

“Don’t be” Ryan laughed, smiling wider than they had in a very long time. “She’s cool.” Cori leaned over and stuck her tongue out at Malorn.

“See Malorn. I’m cool.” She stepped around Ryan and looked them up and down. “You’re pretty cool too for a theurgist.”

“Actually… I’m a necromancer now.” Cori brightened.

“Even better.” She seemed to question something for a second before pulling off her witches hat. She smiled, full of mischief, before pulling the rim of the hat down over Ryan’s eyes. It was too big on them, and they had to balance it on their ears in order to see, but the smile on Cori’s face was worth it. “Keep it. You’re one of us now.” Ryan smiled. The necromancers smiled back.


	2. Chapter 2

Valerian peered at his potion through violent tinted goggles designed specially to keep the fumes out of his eyes. It was almost midnight and Valerian was experimenting with a better health potion, cauldron set up in the center of the octagonal room. Ever since Ryan had been redesignated as a necromancer, Ambrose had begun to send them off on missions. Little ones at first--saving corrupted fairies, clearing out some of the monsters from the streets, delivering messages from guard to guard--and then eventually bigger ones. Just last week Ryan had shown up to class, exhausted and battered, after defeating about fifty rotting fodders on the lookout for some kind of crystal.

Valerian had gotten the idea to start making Ryan potions. Hilda was nice and all, but she kept charging Ry for the potions they so desperately needed. It wasn’t right. If Ambrose was gonna send them out on missions he should at least give them the means to survive them.

Ryan was just a baby, still thirteen, and already they had better control over magic then Valerian could ever hope for. If Valerian could help them out, he sure as hell was going to do it.

He stirred the potion once more counterclockwise with a fallen branch from Blossom, before dipping his finger in the simmering liquid and tasting it.

Well. It certainly wasn’t a basic health potion, that much was clear from the color of the potion (periwinkle instead of the usual red). It was almost like caffeine, and Valerian felt his drooping eyelids pop back up. Valerian quickly unsheathed his athame and sliced open the pad of his thumb.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, before sucking the blood off so he could see the wound properly. He quickly drank another few drops of potion and was pleased when the wound began to knit back together, the scarring minimal.

There was a timid knock on the door, and Valerian wandered over to the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, especially not this late at night.

He opened the door, fully expecting to see an exasperated Malorn ordering him to bed, and was shocked to see Ryan.

“What’re you--”

“H-hi… can I come… come in?” Valerian blinked in shock for a moment before pulling them inside. The kid was drenched with water, with what looked like electrical burns spidering up their neck.

“What the hell happened?” Ryan’s eyes were wide and spooked, and they seemed to be unable to make eye contact. They had curled into themself, conserving warmth or protecting an injury Valerian couldn’t tell. He pulled Ryan down to sit next to the still simmering cauldron. He then grabbed a set of clean dry robes and tossed them at Ryan. “Change into these. I’m gonna go get Malorn--”

“No wait!” Ryan begged, worrying at their lip, “Don’t… don’t get Malorn.”

“Well then you’d better start explaining why the fuck you showed up at my dorm at midnight soaking wet with electrical burns.” Valerian turned his back, busying himself by grabbing his comforter while Ryan changed robes.

“Not… not just the electric burns… that’s why I came here.” Valerian whipped around, heavy blanket halfway pulled from the bed.

“What?” Ryan was a pitiful sight, dripping hair and robes several sizes too big that nearly fell off their shoulders. With the larger robes, the electrical burns were on blatant display. They sniffled and drew the robes over their shoulder from where they’d begun to slip. They winced and wrapped a hand over one of their biceps.

“It’s just a scratch but I figured… figured that you would have something.” Ryan looked down at the simmering cauldron “And looky here! I was right!” Valerian pulled off his goggles. The scene was much easier to get a read on without the purple filter. Ryan was flushed with cold and shaking. A red stain was spreading along the silver piping down the left sleeve of their robes.

Valerian sat down roughly and gently pushed up Ryan’s sleeve, wincing in sympathy as Ryan squirmed in pain. He inhaled sharply as he saw the state of Ryan’s bicep. A deep slash, ragged at the edges split the freckled skin in two.

“Ry… what the fuck.”

“Lightning shark bite.”

“L-lightning shark!?” Ryan sighed, still refusing to make eye contact with Valerian. “Okay. Lightning shark. You’d better explain it to me later but for now just drink this.” Valerian quickly scooped a ladle of potion and handed it to Ryan. “Careful. It’s still--” Ryan winced as they swallowed a large gulp. “--hot.” Ryan giggled weakly and took another, much more cautious sip. The bite mark on their arm was beginning to close up, and Ryan looked down, astonished.

“Holy shit that’s so cool! That works so much better than the ones I get from Hilda. How’d you do that?” Valerian flushed with pride, and flipped some of his dyed blue hair from his face.

“Well, I took the classic recipe for a healing potion and modified it by burning mistwood instead of regular wood to light the cauldron. I also asked Blossom for one of her branches to stir with, and used some elements from a sleep replenishing potion to--” Valerian stopped ranting. “Wait a minute. You were going to tell me how the fuck you got bitten by a lightning shark.” Ryan huffed.

“I’d hoped you’d forgotten about that…” They sipped at the ladle again. “So… Ambrose sent me to meet with Blad Raveneye, you know, the mill operator, and apparently one of the old teleporters had been malfunctioning--that’s actually why I needed that crystal from the fodders--and he wanted me to fix it.” Valerian nodded, struggling to keep up with Ryan’s fast speech. “So anyway, I fixed it, and I get down there and there’s this huge kraken--”

“What? I’m sorry what? A kraken? A fucking--”

“Yes a kraken, try to keep up.” Valerian sat in flabbergasted awe as Ryan proceeded to describe what sounded like a harrowing battle with a storm god. “Well anyway, I managed to finish it off with a banshee, but not before he got me with a lightning shark. And yeah. Bite mark, electric burns, I swallowed a shit ton of water… that’s about it.” Valerian blinked for a moment before shaking his head and focusing on the task at hand. Medical attention. “Oh! And I forgot to sleep last night.”

“How do you forget to--wait… how much water did you swallow?”

“I don’t know… I got submerged a couple times… maybe a liter or so?”

“Jesus Ryry…” Valerian pressed a kiss to their temple and tousled their wet hair. “Wanna stay here tonight kiddo? Ryan hummed softly, and leaned into the palm of Valerian’s hand.

“Maybe… you sure I won’t bother you? I can walk back to my dorm…”

“No way. You’re soaked. I’m not gonna send you outside. Your dorm is all the way across Ravenwood, you’d freeze to death. I’m gonna be up for a bit, but I’ll keep the lights low okay?”

“Okay…” Ryan mumbled sleepily.

“Drink another ladleful before you go to sleep though okay? Or I swear I will tell Malorn exactly what happened and he will ground you.”

“He’s not my dad.”

“Don’t kid yourself Ry.” Ryan sipped at another spoonful of potion, as Valerian began to put away some of the more dangerous ingredients, and lowered the lights. He helped Ryan stand and dropped the comforter on their face

“Night Val.” They said. Valerian smiled, and made a mental note to attempt some sleeping draughts. If Ryan was supposed to save Wizard City, they’d have to get some sleep at some point. He took one last look at the sleeping savior before returning to his cauldron to bottle up the rest of the potion. Hopefully it’d be a good long while before Ryan was in need of a late night healing potion again.


	3. Chapter 3

“Sorry I’m late!” Ryan called, tripping over their feet in a headlong rush to make the class meeting beneath the tree. They clutched onto their hat and stumbled over a root, skidding to a stop in the middle of the group of necromancers huddled against the biting wind.

“It’s fine Ryan, we were just discussing the theory that traps thin out wizards auras to make them easier targets” Malorn blew warm air into his hands and guestured for Ryan to join the rest of the group. Ryan nodded gratefully and took their place in the huddle, before raising their hand.

“Yeah Ry?” Malorn asked,

“Well, that theory isn’t entirely correct. You see, when you cat a trap, the spell is buried in the aura, and begins to open up a hole. The larger the trap the greater the damage increase.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Sarai asked

“Well… I mean I’ve seen it so…” The rest of the necromancers blinked in silence, momentarily shocked.

“Figures you would Ry.” Gabriel conceded, “But… so then shields--”

“Block the holes yeah. An aura isn’t really a bubble like everyone says it is it’s like…” Ryan screwed up their frozen features, “It's like someone dumped a bucket of water over your head… some patches are gonna be dry and some are gonna be wet. Traps act like towels and shields are like… like…” Ryan huffed and flung their head back, running their tongue along their teeth in thought. “Well… maybe it’s not that good of a metaphor. You kinda have to see it.”

“Well it’s not like we can suddenly see through your eyes,” said Liam. “Yeah I guess not.” Ryan furrowed their brows. “But I was in the library the other day and I found this book. Apparently there’s this special kind of spirit water that enables you to see other wizards auras. I had to put it back in the stacks but--”

“The stacks?”

“Yeah the stacks… I mean I know it’s illegal but what are they gonna do expel me? They haven’t yet and I barely show up for classes as is.” They scratched the back of their neck, and laughed nervously.

“You’ve been skipping classes?” Malorn scolded,

“Not the important ones! I’m always here for necromancy lessons!”

“You’re always late for necromancy lessons.” Ryan flushed in shame.

“I try not to be. I’ve been cutting all my general classes for a few weeks now... I even cut monstrology.” They looked up at the disappointed face of their student teacher and quickly back tracked. “I don’t want to! I’ve just… I’ve been working so much for headmaster Ambrose and I can’t make any of my classes. I’m actually starting to miss magic theory with Professor Drake.” They let out a melancholy laugh, and folded their arms around their torso.

“Ryan…” Malorn’s face softened and he reached out to rub Ryan’s shoulder. “If you need us to talk to Ambrose we--”

“No no!” Ryan jumped, guestring adamantly, “I’m fine.” Their bright smile might’ve convinced Malorn if not for the dark bags under their eyes and the subtle hollowing of their cheeks. “See look.” Ryan began to fish around in their shoulder bag, and pulled out a tightly wound scroll secured with a scarlet ribbon. They began to open the scroll, babbling excitedly. “Headmaster Ambrose gave me this scroll excusing me from classes. Its enchanted too so that he can send messages when--” Their face dropped.

“What’s up Ry?” Cori asked, wrapping an arm around their shoulders. Ryan looked up suddenly, a pitiful expression on their face. They then smiled broadly again and began to roll the scroll back up. Cori’s arm helped hide the hitching of their shoulders, but nothing could hide the glassiness of their eyes when they had finally put the scroll away.

“I… apparently there’s this cave? In Triton? A-and headmaster Ambrose wants me to go explore it out for him. I’ve gotta… I’ve gotta go pack a bag. I’m sorry I’m cutting class--I’m sorry I--” The rest of the necromancers pretended not to see Ryan wipe at their eyes as they ducked out from under Cori’s arm and slid away.

The necromancers also pretended not to hear the sob that sounded from behind the tree as soon as Ryan was out of sight.

Cori was already moving to follow them, but Marcus caught her arm and held her back.

“Cori no.” He said. And she whipped around.

“Fuck you, I’m going after them.”

“We still have class--”

“No we don’t.” Malorn said, “You’re all dismissed. I’m going to Ryan’s dorm if anyone else wants to come.”

* * *

Ryan had managed to get their breathing under control, and was sitting on the edge of their bed, twisting their fists in the comforter. Their face was a little sticky with tears, but nothing they didn’t deal with on a regular basis. They took another fortifying breath before moving to their bedside table beginning to sort through spell cards they thought that they might need for this so called Haunted Cave. Ghouls? Traps? Shields?

They sighed, and pocketed their deck, sighing. Ryan rubbed the heels of their palms into their eyes, watching the blooms of hallucinated colors flower under the pressure applied to their eyelids.

There was a knock at the door, and Ryan quickly smoothed out their robes and prayed that their eyes weren’t that red. They quickly answered the door, and look a step back when they found themself face to face with Cori, Malorn, Valerian, and Iridium.

“Oh… hey guys!” They struggled to smile for a second, as the motley group entered, “What… what are you doing here?”

“Well… we wanted to see you off!” Iridium exclaimed, “And Malorn wouldn’t let all of us come because he was afraid you’d be overwhelmed by all thirteen of us.” Cori elbowed her in the ribs in an attempt to cut the taller girl off, but was too late as the idea had already been said. Ryan chuckled wetly and said,

“Well… he was probably right.”

“We brought you some things though!” Valerian piped up, and pulled out a bottle of potion freshly sealed with clear candle wax. The elixir glittered in the light. Valerian’s specialty. “Thought you might need this… never know when a health potion could come in handy for you.”

Ryan accepted it and attached it to a strap on their backpack, smiling at Valerian thankfully. Iridium pushed forward, and handed them something wrapped in linen. Ryan cautiously unwrapped it, revealing several handfuls of bruised chocolate covered strawberries. Iridium’s face was split with a wide smile.

“I mean… they’re technically pet snacks but I’ve tried them and they’re really good so I figured you might want them for your trip!” Ryan popped one in their mouth, savoring the mix of overripe fruit and dark chocolate. Juice and chocolate rubbed off on their fingers and Ryan wiped them on their robes.

“Thanks Ridi.” Ryan tucked the berries into a fold in their robes, close to their chest. The fruits began to bruise even more than they already were, but Ryan didn’t care. Iridium pressed a sticky kiss to their forehead, and Ryan scrunched up their nose and began to wipe the lip gloss from their forehead.

“So Ryan…” Malorn spoke from his place leaning against the open door frame “Given that you’re going to be fighting a lot of things you’ve never fought before… I figured you might need… these.” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out three identical spell cards. He strode halfways across the dorm and handed them reverently to Ryan.

“The banshee... really? But we’ve barely had time to practice with--”

“Ryan.” Malorn placed a comforting hand on their shoulder, “You’re more than ready. You’re better than I ever was.”

“Malorn I can’t--”

“Take them. Please, you deserve it.” Ryan smiled again, a genuine smile as they pocketed the cards. On impulse, they jerked Malorn down for a hug.

“Thank you…” They mumbled, and Malorn, shocked at the display, rubbed their back soothingly. The embrace continued for a moment before Ryan broke it, stepped back and began to shuffle the new cards into their deck. “I’ll put them to good use I swear.” Malorn, Valerian and Iridium filed out as they shuffled, and Ryan assumed that they had been left entirely alone.

“Hey kid. Come here.” Oh right. Cori. Ryan complied. Cori bit her lip, refusing to make eye contact. “I’ve actually got something for you too.” She snatched her old pointed hat from their head, and tucked it under her arm. She then unbuttoned the hood from her own robes. “Turn around.” Ryan did so, and they could feel deft, calloused fingers, doing up the clasps on the collar. She spun them back around and leaned down slightly to make direct eye contact. She smiled sadly and tugged the hood down in a gesture now familiar to them. “Listen up kiddo. This is my best dueling hood. I’ve had it since my first year of school, back when the rest of the school still trusted death students enough to let us fight other students in dueling club.” She swallowed hard and looked at Ryan, her lazy eye ever so slightly off center. “I want you to keep it safe for me okay? And you’d better come back with it.” She straightened up and cleared her throat, lifting up Ryan’s hat and replacing it on her own head. “I’ll watch this for you until you come back.”

She turned and left the room, throwing back one more worried glance at them. Ryan let out a breath as the door closed behind her, and quickly checked out their face in the full length mirror hung on the wall next to the death banner.

The hood was fashioned in such a way that it resembled the top half of a skull when drawn down over the eyes, bones lovingly embroidered in silver thread. The symbol for the school of necromancy was stitched onto each side of the hood. Swirls of silver ribbon lined the back of it, connecting with the similar piping on Ryan’s necromancy robes.

Ryan looked down at the cards in their hand, and then back up at their skull clad reflection. And took a deep breath before shouldering their backpack and hoping that they would survive whatever waited for them in the cave and come back to their friends.

* * *

Haunted Cave wasn’t really much of a cave. Or it was. It was a cave. But not a cave in the traditional sense. It was really a street that ran along the length of an enormous cavern. Ryan had been expecting a natural rock formation when they entered the metal gate on Triton avenue. They had not been expecting an entire street. It was in almost the same style as triton avenue, but instead of storm symbols, there were skulls etched into the stone walls lining the sidewalk.

All the houses were abandoned, windows dark and doors barricaded. The gardens were overgrown with bushes that may once have been roses, but were now merely thorns. Cold mist swirled around their feet as the snuck along the sidewalk, dampening the hem. They shivered, and pulled Cori’s hood down tighter around their face to conserve heat. They fumbled in their robes, and pulled out the package of strawberries. Stiff fingers popped one of the berries into their mouth, and instantly they felt a bit better. Just knowing that their friends were waiting for them back in Ravenwood.

They passed a small patch of dead grass where a wizened tree grew next to a tombstone. Ryan leaned down to read the name on the grave, rubbing away moss that had grown in the cracks of the letters. They couldn’t make out more than a K and a T… but they left a strawberry on the grave nonetheless.

A weed sprouted just behind the gravestone, and Ryan decided to pull it. They gripped the spiked red leaves, and jerked upward.

A high pitched squeal rent the air and Ryan swung the root against the stone wall without meaning to. The scream cut off as the root--Ryan now recognized it as a mandrake--was bruised against the rock. Ryan let out a shocked breathe and clapped a hand over their mouth.

They’d killed it. They picked up the limp body of the plant in one hand and quickly packed it in the reagents pouch of their backpack. Not daring to look back at the tombstone, they moved past it.

Rotting fodders. Ryan could tell that they were there before they ever rounded the corner. It was the smell. Putrid and sweet, but almost overpowered by the stench of wet earth. Sure enough, when they turned the corner, the corpses shuffling about the cobblestones turned to look at them. Ryan held their breath, and waited for them to lose interest as they always did. Sidewalks in Wizard city were magically protected, originally to stop pedestrians from being the victims of a car crash. However, now that monsters and constructs roamed the avenues and alleyways of the city, they served a different purpose, and kept the creatures from harming students as long as they kept to the sidewalks.

The fodders looked away, sunken eyes glazing over as they paced the street, waiting for them to step close enough to grab. Fodders made sense for a haunted cave filled with tombstones, but they weren’t the only creatures in the cave, just the most familiar. Flocks of bats--blood bats?-- squeaked from the dark recesses of the cavern roof, swooping down on occasion in an attempt to bite at Ryan. They were infinitely glad for the hood that protected them from ariel attacks.

They fired a quick minor dark blow at the swarm of bats, knocking one akimbo as it struggled to maintain its flight path. Luckily, it didn’t fall.

Ryan hunched their shoulders and kept their wand drawn and ready as they stealthed down the misty pavement. Faint orange lights glowed through the mist, and tall graceful figures began to appear. They were nearly seven feet tall, clad in dark flowing robes, and crucified--scarecrow-like--over stick. There was no evidence of any limbs, and the strange glowing lights came from pumpkins carved with manic grins. Crows and ravens perched on the branches, flitting from figure to figure. Ryan had never seen anything like them before. The nearest figure’s pumpkin suddenly rotated independently of its body and stared straight at Ryan.

One by one, the others followed, their bodies continuing to float freely, their heads all focusing on Ryan. They began to hyperventilate, and backed up as far as they could. Ryan tripped on a sudden step, and fell roughly backwards into a solid oak door. They turned around suddenly.

They were standing just in front of one of the larger houses on the street. The windows were still intact, and the walls and door were solid, but it looked completely abandoned. Ryan quickly looked behind them, and, seeing that the figures were all still staring at them, turned back to the door.

It opened easily enough, though the hinges were a bit rusty.

The space was large and open, with mouldy furniture pushed haphazardly to the edges of the room. The ceiling was unusually high, as most of the second story had fallen to the hard wooden planks of the floor. Half of the second story still remained, the half with the staircase, and Ryan could see a musty rug hanging off the broken floor. It looked like it had once been a grand space for a wealthy wizard, but had fallen into disrepair. The structure was good though, and Ryan could easily see themself living there, despite the horrific creatures roaming the streets.

It was safe here, bigger than their dorm, with room to practice spells.

It would make a good classroom.

Actually, it would make a very good classroom.


	4. Chapter 4

Ryan was bouncing with excitement, practically vibrating at the prospect of showing the necromancers their discovery. For the first time in three weeks they were on time for class. Not only were they on time, but they were early. They huddled beneath Bartleby, glancing around for their fellow students.

They couldn’t spot any necromancers, but there were plenty of other students milling about outside their respective classrooms, each glaring at Ryan. Whether it was because of status as a necromancer or because of their position as headmaster Ambrose’s personal errand runner, it seemed that everyone outside of Ryan’s little group of necromancers had it out for them. When they passed the other students, they parted around them, always sure to leave a bubble of space to avoid brush shoulders with wizard city’s guard dog. Ryan heard whispers when they read in the library ‘not natural’ ‘probably gonna snap and kill us all’ ‘we’d be better off if they just—’

But Ryan didn’t like to think about that. So they avoided making eye contact and stuck to the edges of the sidewalk. More than once they’d been shoved into the street in the hope that some troll or haunted minion would finish them off. It never worked… obviously.

“Ryan?” Ryan’s head snapped up at the voice. It was Angel, carrying an armful of books. They rushed towards them, dropping their books in the dewy grass. “No one’s seen you in three days! Where have you—”

“Sorry. I got caught up in the Haunted cave. Also apparently there was this guy in Triton called the harvest lord? I had to kill him even though I know he’s just gonna reform in the exact same place later!” They let out a hysterical giggle, “I don’t know why I try sometimes… they just keep coming back!” Angel smiled wearily and pulled them into a hug.

“Glad to have you back.”

“Ryan!” Another voice called, followed by several more shouts of:

“They’re back!”

“Ryan?”

“Oh thank Merlin”

“Hey guys.” Ryan gave a little wave to the rest of the group that had just rounded the tree and come into view. The necromancers mobbed them, and Ryan was suddenly hugged and patted from all angles. The wizards refused to disperse, even when Malorn called for the class to start.

“Umm... actually guys, I’ve got something show you.” Ryan said.

“Can it wait for after the lesson?” Malorn asked.

“I mean... not really? Well yes. But it might be better to do it now.” Ryan smiled pleadingly, an expression mirrored on their fellow student’s faces. Malorn sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Fine. What do you want to show us?” Ryan beamed and extricated themself from the group hug.

“Follow me.”

* * *

“Are you sure we should go in there Ryan?” Asked Gabe,

“I mean... I was fine earlier!” Ryan said as they pulled the metal grill from the mouth of the cave. It was heavy, rusted at the edges from the thick mist that curled from the mouth of the tunnel. Ryan finally managed to tip the balance, and had to scramble out of the way before they were crushed by the skull decorated gate. It clattered to the barren dirt, and Ryan rubbed the flakes of rust off their hands. “Right. Um... stay on the sidewalk I guess? Actually... just hold hands in a line so no one gets too close to the edge.” The wizards complied, hands slotting together. “Stay close.”

Ryan slid into the mouth of the cave, wand aloft and hood drawn over their eyes. The cave was just as clammy as it was a few days ago, the mist around their ankles just as thick.

“What is this place?” Asked Valerian, shivering closer to Gabe in the line up.

“Haunted cave. I think it used to be some sort of street? There’s a tower surrounded by a moat at the end... I actually think it’s that spirit water I was telling you about. I think it was made to house more people but probably got condemned a long time ago. Too disturbing.” The group passed the K-T gravestone and Ryan turned backwards to face the rest of the group. “So there’s some fodders up ahead... nothing you haven’t seen before, but be careful. There’s also... well you’ll see, I don’t exactly know what they are. Just stay as far from the road as you can, and don’t freak out too much.” The terrified necromancers nodded shakily and shifted closer together. Ryan rounded the corner, and the living corpses stared at them. They ignored the looks and focused on the houses down the street. Which one was it again?

No wait. It was further up. Bigger than these single family homes. And it had been surrounded by those Jack’o’lantern things.

Speaking of those, they could see the flickering lights up ahead through the mist. “Okay...” they whispered, “this is probably gonna freak you guys out, but they shouldn’t bother you as long as I’m here. I killed a bunch of them earlier, but—no offense—I’m much more powerful than most of you, so they’ll notice me.” It was true. Most creatures couldn’t see very well, and plenty of them didn’t have eyes, so they spotted their victims by looking at their auras. Ryan’s own aura far eclipsed the others’, so they were safe as long as a bigger target was around.

The figures solidified from the fog and Ryan heard gasps and whispered explosives from behind them as, one by one, the jack’o’lanterns swiveled to face Ryan. Ryan glared back at them and turned their back, walking up the path to the abandoned house.

“Here.” They opened the heavy door and huffed. There was a scarlet screamer hovering in the middle of the floor, and Ryan quickly backed away from the door, grimacing. “Damn... there’s a screamer in there this time, let me clear it out quickly, I’ll tell you when you can come inside.” The battle was quick. Scarlett screamers weren’t that difficult to vanquish, and after a couple spells, the ghost dissipated. “Come on in guys!” They called, and their classmates filed inside. “I know it’s a little cluttered with junk and the second floor is broken, but I think we could fix it up with a little work. Although apparently creatures can manifest in here despite the sidewalk barrier... so that might be a drawback. Although that could be a good way to get some practice in so maybes it’s not that bad...”

“Ryan. What the hell are you talking about?” Cori blurted out. Ryan belatedly realized that they hadn’t explained why they had brought the class here. The wizards were milling about the edges of the room, poking and prodding at the motley furniture, shivering against the cold. Ryan summoned a quick firecat to stalk around the room and provide a bit of heating.

“Sorry. Um... I thought maybe you guys might want an actual classroom! And I was hiding in here the other day and I figured I should show you guys so you could decide whether you wanted it or not.” They smiled nervously and began to fidget with their hands. When they looked up again, they saw the faces of the other necromancers light up with hope and excitement.

“Please Malorn?” Asked Alexandria. Malorn seemed to contemplate it for a moment, mulling over the pros and cons.

“Okay. I’d love to have a classroom again. You guys willing to help fix it up?” Clamor broke out, each wizard already spouting ideas on how to renovate the space.

* * *

The next day started with the equivalent of Spring cleaning. The stronger wizards were in charge of removing debris the debris from the fallen second story. Arms loads of wood were dragged down the street and tossed into the moat by the closed down tower. Another group sorted through the old furniture, looking for anything usable amongst the rubble. Most of it was warped from the damp or moldy and moth eaten beyond repair, but they managed to find some salvageable furniture hidden beneath the piles of garbage, which they promptly dusted and arranged to create a living space.

Most of the rectangular room was left empty in the hope that duels and practice could occur, but beneath the partially demolished second story, there was room for several bookshelves, a sideboard, and a large oak desk. The second story was a different matter altogether. Despite the destruction, the floor was very solid, and with some sawing, the splinters and rough edges were removed from the overhang. A china cabinet and a few shelving units lined the walls of the second floor, all usable and intact.

The next step was cleaning. The rooms were caked in dust, but one quick wyldfire spell was enough to remove the dust without damaging the floor. The windows had to be washed by hand, but once they were cleared of cobwebs and dust, the yellow stained glass shone.

By mid afternoon, the necromancers were exhausted, and had sprawled across the loft in various states of consciousness. A voice called from outside, muffled by the stone brick walls of the house.

“A little help! Can someone get the door?” Marcus sighed and stood up, joints cracking as he stood up and stretched. He shuffled down the stairs and opened the door. Ryan practically fell inside, arms full of paper wrapped parcels. A stretch of fabric was draped over their shoulders, and a small bag was caught by the handle between their teeth, but despite the handle they were grinning wider than anyone had seen in ages. They practically sparkled with joy as they dumped everything on the ground. The rest of the necromancers, excited by Ryan’s arrival had joined Marcus downstairs.

“What is all this?” Liam asked, poking at one of the parcels.

“Be right back, I’ve got more. I had to borrow one of the wagons from Milo Barker to bring it all, but I got it here.” The necromancers exchanged quizzical glances as Ryan sprinted back outside, apparently to grab another load from the wagon. When they returned this time it was with arms ladened with boxes, which they promptly set down again. The next time they returned it was under the weight of even more fabric, with a few large baskets settled on their head like helmets. They then pushed in a human sized wooden crate. Then a chest the necromancers recognized as belonging to Ryan themself. The comforters from their bed. An entire crafting station. A chalkboard. A small box with holes punctured in it.

After their final delivery, Ryan sat down on the floor in the middle of the items, and smiled in a way that made them look their age more than anything else ever had. They looked around themself at the packages scattered in a circle and their smile faltered.

“You… you don’t think I got too much did you?”

“No! Of course not!” Roslyn kneeled down next to them and cupped their cheek. “I think it’s perfect. Come on, let’s unpack.” That bright smile was back and they moved from package to package, deciding which to open first.

“Well uh… I got you a chalkboard Malorn, and here--” They opened up their personal storage chest, “Is my death banner and my Ravenwood banner… I figured I wouldn’t want to sleep in my dorm so I brought everything I thought I might need… My mattress is still in the wagon do you think I could set it up on the second floor? Or should I leave it in my dorm… shit I should’ve asked if I could move in before I brought it here shouldn’t I have.”

“Ryan, you can sleep anywhere you want.” Malorn reassured. Ryan let out a delighted little hum.

“Cori and I will bring it in.” Marcus offered.

“Thanks!” They said, already starting to uncrate items. By the time Cori and Marcus had set Ryan’s bed up in the loft, they had already begun to decorate. The chalkboard was set up by the bookshelves, Ravenwood and death banners were hung on the stone brick walls. An anatomically correct skeleton (“Leonard… I’ve decided to name him Leonard.”) hung from a post in the corner next to the crafting station, and two of the baskets had been stored in the nook under the stairs, both filled with elaborately tasseled seat cushions each in a variety of bright colors and patterns (“I got one for each of you, I figured you guys wouldn’t want desks… I tried to match them to your auras but the tailor didn’t have exact matches.”).

“Hey, check these out.” Ryan said, opening a large brown paper parcel to reveal plush folded carpets in silver and black. “There's a vendor at the market in Cyclops lane? I had him make one special for us.” Ryan proceeded to open more parcels and crates to reveal their purchases. Fur blankets that they’d traded for from Baldur Goldpaws, oil lamps they’d acquired from firecat alley, curtains from Eloise Merryweather, a map of wizard city, medical supplies, textbooks, stationary. They unpacked gardening supplies: watering cans and pest remover, honey sickle, boom shrooms, and dead beats that Ryan thought would grow well in the cave. They planned to have a garden--an easy way to get regents.

The final box, the one with the punctures, was saved for last. Ryan gathered the necromancers around, and cautiously opened the box. A small black panther hopped out, and purred as it wound its way around Ryan.

“Awww!” Cried Angel, “It’s so little!” The panther cocked its head and padded away from the group,

“I figured we could have a class pet?” Ryan wheedled, blinking innocent eyes up at Malorn.

“Sure we can… but you’ve gotta feed it okay?”

“Yeah yeah of course!” Ryan brightened, pulling out a familiar pouch that had been refilled with chocolate strawberries. “Turns out we both like these!”

“What are we gonna name it?” Liam asked. The group turned to the panther who was poised to jump onto Leonard the skeleton. It did so as they watched, scrabbling for purchase on the ribs and shoulder blades of the model. It finally balanced out, and lay down over the skeleton’s bony shoulders.

“Bones. I think we should call it Bones.”


	5. Chapter 5

With a name like Colossus Boulevard, Ryan had been expecting Giants.

There were no giants in Colossus Boulevard.

Instead there were these strange goblin things that were eating everything, including the houses and paving stones. As Ryan walked through the drifts of snow piled up on the sidewalk, they were grateful for the small amount of warmth Cori’s dueling hood provided (despite saying that she’d give them back the witch hat after their trip to haunted cave, she hadn’t, claiming that they needed it more than she did). They had to avoid potholes in the road caused by errant stones eaten by the gobblers, and at some point in their trek down the frozen street, they caught their foot on one, and fell, sprawling head first into the street.

They struggled to push themself up, limbs aching from the cold, and found themselves surrounded by gobblers, two of which were already beginning to summon a battle sigil. They didn’t have time to get away before they were sucked into the sun circle. Ryan stood, already consulting their hand of cards. But when they looked up, it was to find not one but two gobblers sharing the sigil.

That was new.

The battle took twice as long as it should have, mostly because Ryan was shocked by the double team attack. As soon as the fight was over, they stumbled to the sidewalk and gulped down a mouthful of potion. Some of the drink spilled, and Ryan had to wipe it from his chin so it wouldn’t freeze there. They continued down the winding street, and eventually found solace in a low courtyard ringed with torn up stones. A jovial looking man in a blacksmith’s apron sat at the edge of a fountain. He looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps and smiled as he noticed the black and silver robes.

“Ah, you’re one of Malorn’s students aren’t you?”

“Y-yes sir.” Ryan’s teeth chattered,

“Glad you made it. I’m Kirby. Malorn mentioned in his note that you’re ready to learn a fourth level spell. You think you can prove it to me?”

“Yes sir… but I have to d-do something first. Something about this Gobbler kind?” Kirby’s expression darkened.

“Sometimes I forget everything that you’re supposed to do for Ambrose… Well. Be sure to come back here when you’ve finished talking to him. I’d hate to see a promising young wizard like you get hurt.” Ryan nodded gratefully, and trudged back into the snow.

Gobbler castle was even more destroyed than the rest of the town, teeth marks had been left on nearly every brick or roof tile, and large chunks of the palace had been digested completely, allowing the chill winds of the boulevard to whistle through the chewed up hallways.

Prince Gobblestone was seated on a throne, wider and more well fed than anything else on the street. His skin was taught and slick, and the overalls he wore were stretched, the seams nearly bursting open. He was asleep in his chair, his breathing rattling wetly in his chest. The throne room smelled of rotten food, making Ryan gag as they hugged the stone brick wall, trying to avoid interacting with the prince. They made it to the spiral staircase that lead up to the balcony overlooking a large pit.

If Prince Gobblestone had been overfed, the gobbler king was beyond comprehension. Ryan actually had to turn their head to see the entirety of the king, he was that large. The smell that permeated the castle was even stronger so near to the source. Oils oozed out from his pores, and it had a hard time reaching his mouth due to his enormous girth. He opened his mouth to ingest another house, revealing teeth coated with grime, bleeding gums, and bits of masonry stuck in the gaps between teeth. Glazed over eyes focused on Ryan, and it let out a chuckle so deep that it resonated through the entire castle.

“A tiny wizard! Hello, tiny wizard. Have you come to surrender your city?”


	6. Chapter 6

Ryan timidly poked their head into the mount shop, worried that if anyone saw them buying something to frivolous, they’d be reported to the headmaster. Not that anyone would care enough to report them, but the fear was there anyway as all irrational fears were. The small shop was sheltered from the harsh winds of Elk’s edge. It was soaked in warm light that bounced off highly polished wooden floors. Bored students milled about the cramped shop, examining harnesses and saddles hung from hooks on the walls. Even in this small space, they managed to leave room around Ryan as they wandered to the edge of the room.

Beneath a glass case, several brooms were clamped down to prevent them from breaking through the glass. They moved closer to the case, hands spread wide over the glass, leaving fingerprints that someone would later have to wipe away. They ignored the murmuring that fringed the edges of their hearing, and began to worry their lip as they looked from broom to broom.

The first broom had an olive colored handle and dark brown bristles. It was joined with red twine, and the handle was etched with spirals highlighted with wood stain. The bristles themselves were akimbo, as if the broom itself had been smashed into the ground several times before it had been placed in the display case. It was the most mobile of the brooms in the case, and nearly vibrated out of its restraints when Ryan focused their attention on it.

The next broom was colored completely black, both bristles and handle. It was sleek and highly polished, with gold metal bands at the base of the handle. Gold rivets were screwed into the wood all along the broom, and the lamplight glinted off of them through the display case. The bristles were clumped entirely together, like a ponytail, and curled at the ends into a whorl of thin black strands. It sat placidly in the case, waiting for a wizard to take control.

The third and final broom was the one that truly drew Ryan’s eye. The handle was made from a single branch, with the bark still attached and sealed. It split in two at the top, branching out into handles. The entire thing was sealed to prevent splinters, but it still had texture that Ryan liked. The bristles were the color of pale honey, and were attached through black braided cord. The bristles were braided at the connection between handle and tail. More cord was secured at the bottom of the braided section, and another cord bound the bristles halfway down. It vibrated slightly, and seemed to give off a slight purr. Ryan swiped a finger over the glass case, making their decision.

“Excuse me?” When they spoke up, the shop fell silent, “I’ll… I’ll take this one.” The shop keep smiled indulgently, if a little falsely and took the broom out of the case, checking the price tag as she did so.

“That’ll be one thousand gold.” Ryan fumbled at the drawstring pouch attached to their leather backpack, pulling it open and dropping a ridiculous amount of coins onto the counter. They clattered and clanged in the awkward silence of the shop, and more than one bounced off the counter and rolled across the floor.

“I think this is enough?” They said, The astonished shopkeep nodded, and handed Ryan the broom, having not bothered to wrap it in paper. “Thank you!” they called, unable to hide their giddy smile. The bell on the door jingled as Ryan practically skipped out of the room.

Elk’s edge was windy--it always was in the shopping district--and Ryan was buffeted sideways as they stepped into the street, broom secured under their arm. They bounced back to the commons, and as soon as they arrived in the sunny streets of the communal space, they mounted their broom.

And immediately fell off again.

Titters of laughter surrounded them as they stood from the dirt and brushed off their robes, flushing red with embarrassment. But they mounted the broom again, and managed to stay hovering for almost ten seconds before they slipped off sideways, scraping their hand against the cobblestones. Ryan let out a sharp breath and removed the tiny pieces of rock and dirt from the graze. They shook off their hand, and mounted the broom again, and this time, they were able to maintain balance. They let out a whoop, and began to cautiously move forward.

They tightened their grip on the split handle of the broom, and increased their speed, moving off of the cobblestones and onto the grass. They sped across the lawn, whipping past lounging students and frolicking pets. They laughed joyously, and began to float higher, until they were level with the roofline. From this vantage point they could see the entire commons. The fairgrounds and the headmaster’s office, the fountain and the library.

They spun in a slow circle, drifting ever higher, until they realized that they were able to see over the walls separating the streets. With a wicked grin they sped off, leaning close to the handle of the broom to become more aerodynamic.

They swooped over the wall and arrived in Ravenwood. It was jarring to feel the change in magical weather from one street to another. They had to drop sharply to avoid a branch, and found themself tumbling to the grass below. They lay, spreadeagled, amid the dewy grass, and laughed fully. Their chest felt light, as if they’d finally inhaled after holding their breath for hours. They closed their eyes, and enjoyed a quiet moment in the grass.

“Hey.” Ryan’s eyes snapped open, and they found their vision filled with a familiar face.

“Hi Flint!” Flint helped Ryan to their feet, and ruffle their hair. “What’re you doing here?”

“Class just got out! Ran out of Drake’s room as quickly as I could, and ran into you.” Flint smiled, “The real question is, what are you doing here.”

“I ditched. Finally had an afternoon where I didn’t have to kill anything so I decided that instead of going to history I would buy a broom. Not like anyone could stop me.” They looked around, worried that someone might have heard them and would actually stop them.

“Nice. Can I try?”

“No! I’m still using it!”

“You’re obviously not Ry come on, just let me try!” Flint attempted to snatch the broom from Ryan’s hand, but they were too fast for him, tripping backwards with a laugh.

“You’ll have to catch me first!” Ryan mounted the broom again and sped off, gaining altitude as they went. They circled back around until they were hovering just above Flint’s head. Flint jumped up in an attempt to grab the broom, but Ryan always managed to remain just out of reach. They stuck their tongue out at him, and swooped down. Flint followed, tripping over his feet as he laughed.

They turned their broom around and began to fly backwards, pulling faces.

“Marcus! Help me!” Flint called, and Ryan looked back just in time to avoid a flying tackle from their fellow necromancer.

“No fair! You’re cheating!” Ryan called

“You’re flying how is that not cheating?”

“Shut up!” Ryan called, barely able to get the words out due to their laughter. They sped off in another lap around Bartleby. By the time they had gone full circle, Ryan was being followed by five necromancers, Iridium, Gabe, and Alexandria having joined in the chase. “Catch me if you can!” Ryan called and swooped down into the tunnel leading to the Commons. The necromancers followed them through, sprinting to keep up with the broom.

Ryan nearly bowled over a pack of diviners as they exited the tunnel.

“Sorry!” They called, checking over their shoulder to make sure that the necromancers weren’t about to catch them. They were nearly caught up to them, and Ryan soared upwards, once again out of their reach. The group of death students were leaning on one another, out of breath from running and laughing, and they still attempted to jump up to grab the broomstick. Ryan wobbled for a moment, nearly slipping off their broom, causing the necromancers to gasp in horror, and prepare to catch them. “I’m good! I’m good!” Ryan called, stabilizing themself, and swooping down until they were once again level with the ground.

They rocketed across the lawn, wind whipping at their hair and robes. They got to the edge of the pond and continued to hover over the surface of the water. Their toes skimmed the surface of the still water, creating tracks of ripples in the not quite mirror smooth surface. They turned to face the necromancers and lifted their hands from the broom handle, clenching their knees to keep themself upright. They whooped again, and caught Flint’s eye just before they overbalanced and fell headlong into the pleasantly cool water, scattering the fish.

They popped out of the water, and shook their head like a wet dog would, droplets of water spraying from drenched curls.

The kind laughter of the necromancers filled their ears, and despite their soaked robes and damp face, they laughed too.


	7. Chapter 7

Bones rarely stopped to think about things. She mostly lived on instinct. Hungry, tired, playful. These were the words she lived by. And she lived comfortably. Sure, there were not dusty beams of sunlight or birds to chase, but she slept in piles of warm fur blankets, and balanced atop a skeleton, and spent her time lounging on various shelves and ledges. That was how she spent her time when her people weren’t around.

Then she could wind around them, press her face beneath their chins, and fall asleep on their laps or their chests. When her people were in the garden, she was let outside to sit, gargoyle like, atop a stone fence, hissing at the flocks of blood bats that roosted beneath the eaves. She was never allowed outside without supervision, not since she’d gone out without permission and ripped up a whole row of dastardly beets (those beets had it coming, she maintained that).

Life was simple. And she saw her people at least once a day. They came, their arms loaded with scarves and quills and books with lots and lots of words. And they came with sweet berries dipped in chocolate that she gobbled down, purring her thanks only after she was sure there was to be no more berries given.

Her people came often. Her person came less often.

Her person, who had taken her box from the crowded, nasty smelling store, and carried here all the way to her home, whispering kind, comforting words the entire time. Her person who had named her. Her person who was hers and hers alone.

She didn’t see them as often as she would have liked to, so when they did show up she made the most of every moment. From the moment they opened the door, she wound around their legs, tripping them up as she jumped to press her forehead into their hanging hand. When they sat down, she ignored the skeleton and sat on their shoulders, slept in their lap. The berries they gave her were eaten out of their hand, and she liked their fingertips clean of chocolate.

Sometimes they came in with the other people, laughing and loud, and even though the noise hurt her ears she wouldn’t leave their side.

But sometimes they came in alone, in the odd, quiet hours of the dark. Sometimes they fell asleep before they made it to the second floor. More often though, they sat on their bed, water staining their face. It was salty when she nosed into it, breath strong in their ears as she sniffled their face, tickling them with her whiskers. They sometimes laughed then, and ran gentle fingers along the smooth fur of her back. But sometimes they only cried harder, and gripped fists into the downy fur of her underbelly, squeezing her so tightly that, were it anyone other than her person, she would have hissed in protest.

But instead of hissing, she let them manhandle her, soaking her as they pressed their face into the scruff of her neck. Instead of hissing she purred her most comforting purr, and kneaded their thighs, keeping them grounded. Eventually they would fall asleep, and Bones would curl up on their chest.

They would wake up in the early time, before the others came in, and lift her off their chest, holding her above them with straight arms until she began to squirm in their grasp. They then would drop her to the mattress, and stumble down the ladder and out the door, closing it in her face just as she tried to poke her face through the gap to follow them wherever they needed following. She always sat by the door, and always heard a tiny,

“Goodbye Bones” muffled through the wood. She always _prrrped_, in response, even though she doubted they could hear her.


	8. Chapter 8

_ **There are rumors of methods of gaining power in a duel. ** _

No one, not even Ryan had ever tried to enter the tower at the end of Haunted cave. Until now. Ryan waited at the base of the tower, wringing their hands, and checking over their deck one more time. Vampire, banshee, blade, blade, trap, shield, fairy… They sighed, and reshuffled their cards, returning them to their deck box. They inhaled deeply, and opened the newly unlocked door (Ryan never asked how Ambrose was able to use magic to open doors that were previously closed, but Ryan always found that buildings they had failed to enter in the past opened easily before them when they needed to discorporate a creature inside).

The tower was dusty and cobweb covered, and as they opened the door, a flock of bloodbats flew past them, their wings snagging on Ryan’s robes. It was dark, and Ryan had to blink to adjust to the dim of the room. A figure came into focus, hunched over and turned away, with large… things… protruding from its back. It began to turn, disjointed and shaky, and revealed itself to be covered from head to toe in a long ratty black cloak. It lifted its head.

Yellow eyes glowed from otherwise empty sockets in a grimy skull, it smiled curiously at Ryan, exposed teeth seeming to sharpen the longer they smiled for. Their hands were skeletal, clutching onto a crescent shaped staff in a way that shouldn’t have been possible without muscles or ligaments.

“Wizard, I am having a vision…” Lord Nightshade spoke in a rasp of a voice, almost too deep to hear. He straightened up, and the protrusions on his back unfolded into tattered black wings pocked with missing feathers. “I forsee darkness descending upon you… Let us seal your fate.” Ryan was the one to summon the battle sigil this time, fingers falling into the practiced motion of the ritual.

_ **Magic is not free. It requires sacrifice--a distinct sacrifice for every school. ** _

The sigil became the only illumination of the room as Ryan was sucked into their circle and away from the still open door that banged shut behind them. They began to hyperventilate and struggled to see their spell cards in the moody atmosphere. They dropped a death prism to the ground, a recently learned spell that they’d prepared specifically for this battle. The spell was still new, and they almost mispronounced the last word of the incantation, but they managed it, and with a clang, the spell landed.

Ryan closed their eyes as Nightshade cast his spell--a death blade--and focused hard on Nightshade’s aura. It was almost an absence of light. They could feel a sucking force like a vacuum pulling them towards him. They could smell something that went deeper than the dust and dirt of the tower. It smelled of decay. Of decay. Mold and rotting meat. Ryan felt sick.

** _Ancient research tells of so-called ‘power pips’ and the methods used to acquire them. _ **

The prism slowly rotated, and in their mind’s eye, they could see the faint glimmer of green light cast by it. Their cards were bad, first level spells or schools they didn’t specialize in. They quickly discarded, flicking the unwanted cards over their shoulder. They cast a curse, and felt it connect sharply.

Nightshade’s turn, a pixie. The tiny sprite giggled, voice echoing strangely off the walls of the tower. Ryan flinched when the blade floating near Nightshade’s left wing exploded, shards of black metal bouncing to the floor. The pixie flew in another circle, before stretching her hands out to drain Ryan of their life force. The vacuum feeling intensified, and Ryan was dragged forward by their chest, blue light connecting them to the spell.

They breathed for a moment and drew a new hand of cards.

** _But these methods do have consequences. _ **

They exhaled, relieved, and cast their own blade, comforted by its appearance. Nightshade skipped his turn. Another chance to breathe. Another spell to cast. A death trap this time. It hit.

**_These consequences are often temporary… but with repeated abuse of the power pip, wizards will find themselves stuck with permanent side effects._ **

Nightshade cast a natural attack, seeming to glide into the center of the circle. He laughed, deep and guttural, before grasping his staff like a scythe, and using it as such, he sliced a gash through Ryan’s robes. They recoiled, held upright only by the magic that forced them to remain so. Fuck that hurt. Ryan had been slashed in battle before, skeletons carried swords after all, but it had never been this deep. The cuts before had merely been scratches compared to the wound they had now. They were shaking, and fumbled with their cards, unable to cast, and forced to pass up their turn. Nightshade passed as well.

** _Balance magic, being formed of equality in all things will take a wizard’s ability to move normally. Powerful sorcerers often walk with a cane or become confined to a wheelchair due to their fluctuating center of gravity. _ **

Ryan cast a banshee, but their voice shook and their hands shook and the spell must have shaken too because it fizzled fantastically, taking the pips with it. Ryan struggled to stay focused as their eyes began to water. They were frustrated and upset by the mistake in the spell, and wiped at their eyes with a hand bloody from clutching at their stomach. They breathed, and braced themself for another attack that didn’t come. Nightshade had passed on his turn.

That wasn’t comforting. The last time Nightshade had saved up pips, he had sliced Ryan open. The familiar feeling of panic was beginning to bubble under Ryan’s skin. Stay focused, remain calm, sort out your spells. Cori had taught them her dueling techniques. Stay focused, remain calm, sort out your spells.

**_Storm magic, being formed from electricity, will destroy a wizard’s synapses and neural network, eliminating the ability to feel. Powerful diviners will gradually lose all sense of touch in their wand arm._ **

They discarded another three spells, and decided to cast a wand spell. It would waste the blade, prism and trap… but Ryan was too far down to not have done any damage. The spell succeeded, knocking Lord Nightshade to the side. Ryan felt a sick sense of satisfaction as the wraith grunted in pain and righted himself. Nightshade seemed particularly pleased to cast a ghoul, and actually laughed as he regained almost half of the health Ryan had just taken from him.

Ryan let a tear slip, and bit their lip harshly. Another waste of pips. Everything wasted.

_ **Fire magic, being formed of heat, will take exactly that from a wizard. Powerful pyromancers run at lower temperatures than their counterparts in other schools of magic. ** _

Stay focused, remain calm, sort out your spells. They sorted the cards. Creature spells on the left, organized by amount of damage, blades and traps in the middle, shields on the right. They looked down at the cards. An ice beetle, a firecat, two pixies, a death trap, a death blade, a life shield.

Spells sorted. Now to remain calm. One breath. Two. They inhaled. Exhaled. Brushed hair away, and pulled Cori’s dueling hood tight around their face. They inhaled again. Exhaled again. Breathed in the smell of their friend’s aura (like woodsmoke and cooking meat, pleasant, comforting.). Breathed.

Step three, stay focused, make a plan. They weren’t doing things in the right order as the steps were supposed to be preventive, but it was working.

** _Ice magic, being formed from ice and chill, will increase a wizard’s body temperature, the opposite of a pyromancer. Powerful thaumaturges will present with symptoms of a fever, even when out in the cold. _ **

A plan. A plan. What type of plan. They didn’t have any prisms, and would need them later. But they could discard the firecat, ice beetle, and the pixies, cast the blade, then cast the trap, then the banshee, and hope that before the banshee needed to be cast they would find a prism somewhere in their deck. That was a plan… It may not have been a good plan, but it certainly was a plan.

They cast a blade.

Nightshade attacked with a pixie.

They cast a trap.

Nightshade passed his turn.

They drew a new card. A prism. Thank Merlin. They cast it, and closed their eyes savoring the glow of the prism behind their eyes.

** _Myth magic, being formed from belief, will take your sight; seeing is believing afterall. Powerful conjurers almost all wear glasses, and some lose vision completely in their dominant eye. _ **

Nightshade cast another pixie, sucking the life force out of Ryan, leaving them exhausted. The circle at their feet was a dangerously dark orange. Ryan counted their pips. Five total. Enough to cast a banshee, and then a fairy next round. Enough to keep them alive.

They cast the banshee again, and this time they did not slur their words, did not shake. They did not fizzle.

The specter arose from the center of the sigil, dark, hollow eyes focusing on Lord Nightshade. It unhinged its jaw inhumanly wide, and screamed. The sound seemed to shatter the blade, the trap, and the prism. Everything exploded at once, shards spreading everywhere. It screamed so loudly that it created its own wind, buffeting the wraith backwards.

He passed on his turn. And for the first time Ryan laughed. Now that they were on an even footing in terms of energy and health (both circles displayed a deep orange color), Ryan felt much better. They pulled the fairy spell from their hand, letting it flutter to the sigil. It dissolved in the energy of the circle, vibrations rippling out as it accepted the spell card.

The healing spell was familiar--the only type of spell Ryan could manage back when headmaster Ambrose thought they were a theurgist--and Ryan was able to summon the friendly fairy with a quick snippet of an old song.

** _Life magic, being formed from serenity and calm, will cause a wizard to become tense. Powerful theurgists find that their resting heart rates increase, and that their fight or flight responses can be triggered by seemingly nothing. _ **

The wraith cast another pixie, but it hardly bothered Ryan after the healing words of the fairy. The spell ended, it's hold on Ryan released, and they counted their pips again. Two. One left over from last time, one gained. Then they looked at their spells.

_Fuck_. They hadn’t been paying attention, too focused on healing themself and putting their plan into action to keep track of what was there.

Two prisms, Two blades, two traps, and a vampire.

And they only had two pips. They could cast the prism, but they wouldn’t have the four pips required to cast a vampire.

** _Death magic, being formed from fate, requires a literal sacrifice. Blood. _ **

Ryan struggled to recall something that they had read, a scroll found tucked between two books deep in the stacks. Something about pips that were twice as powerful, powerful pips… power pips… something like that. There was a price though… something important.

Blood.

That’s what it was. Blood… but Ryan had been bleeding from that scythe strike for almost half the battle… if it was just blood a power pip would have manifested by now.

** _Willingly given blood. _ **

Oh. Ryan remembered now. They cast the prism. The ritual had to be done at the beginning of the round anyway, so they could wait until then to try it. The prism landed, and Ryan was so focused on removing their athame from the special sheath attached to their backpack that they didn’t notice that Nightshade had once again entered the circle.

Ryan looked up at the gravely chuckled, just in time to avoid another slash, this time parallel to their neck. He nearly cut their head off. Their robes were in tatters, the slice at the collarbone exposing opening the robes entirely at the front. They would have been embarrassed if anyone but a wraith was seeing it, but given the situation…

Time to choose cards again, not enough pips to cast a vampire…

They considered their athame. It had always confused them… why would a wizard need to carry a knife around for something other than chopping up ingredients for potions, or portioning off snacks. They’d never once considered what other uses the utilitarian knife may have had.

Light from the circle glinted off the steel blade, and Ryan rolled up their left sleeve. They inhaled, steadying themself.

One slash. Quickly over the top of their arm, near their elbow. Blood dripped from their arm and fell to the sigil. Ryan screwed their eyes up in pain.

Ryan could actually see their own aura… for the first time. It was like oil, shimmering with a rainbow of un-colors that hurt to look at. Everything smelled of blood. It wasn’t the smell of their aura--they couldn’t smell their own aura. It was the sigil. They could hear a sizzling sound.

That wasn’t right.

The other cuts had dripped blood too, but the blood from those wounds had fallen with a splatter.

This blood fell and sizzled. The very ground beneath them seemed to purr, accepting the blood. They opened their eyes, and saw that indeed, something had changed. Instead of three pips, there were two pips… and something different. Instead of white, it was bright yellow, somehow, it glowed brighter than the white pips. It was larger too.

A power pip.

Ryan laughed in relief, and dropped the vampire spell card. It fell to the sigil. Just before it dissolved into the energy of the sigil, a drop of blood fell, and stained the heavy, rune covered paper.

Ryan sunk to their knees, fighting the pull of magic that wanted them to stay upright. They ignored the vampire as it did its work, choosing instead to close their eyes, and focus on the exact moment when Lord Nightshade’s aura disappeared.

The sigil dissolved, and Ryan collapsed fully to their knees, forehead pressed against the ground amid the returned cards.

They stayed that way for almost a minute, breathing shakily with what could have been either sobs or laughter.

Then they sat up, and began to pack up their cards. The vampire spell still had the blood spattered across it, and they tried not to think about it.

* * *

Headmaster Ambrose had congratulated them for discorporating one of Malistaire’s minions. He hadn’t looked up from his paperwork, telling them only to go behind the waterfall for the next step in their journey.

* * *

Nightside. The old death classroom. Dworgyn. It had been underneath Ravenwood this whole time. And no one had found it.

They were supposed to go to Krokotopia immediately, but they couldn’t leave. Not yet. It was late at night, but the necromancers may still be in the classroom in Haunted cave.

They couldn’t leave. Couldn’t drop their classes. They wouldn’t. Not without saying goodbye. They wouldn’t leave until tomorrow morning. The drank a health potion. Cuts sealed up, blood still staining their robes.

They would spend one last night with the necromancers.

And then they would leave.

* * *

The atmosphere inside the classroom was subdued. Sure, it was flooded with warm light and soft murmurs, but Ryan was missing. The atmosphere was always subdued when Ryan was on a mission for Ambrose.

There came a frantic banging at the door, obviously Ryan. No one else came down here. The necromancers flooded to the door, opening it to find Ryan.

They were shivering and wild eyed, their robes ripped and stained with blood. They were clutching the dark robes to their chest, looking between each necromancer’s face until they caught Malorn’s eye.

“Come on.”

“Ryan what--”

“Come on!” They tugged on Malorn’s sleeve, and attempted to drag him out the door and into the street.

“Woah woah… relax Ry.” Ryan stopped, still tense, with no signs of relaxing anytime soon. Malorn pried their fingers from his sleeve, and place a hand on their cheek. “We’ll come Ry… Don’t worry. But we need to get you into some clean robes first okay?” They nodded dumbly, and allowed themself to be shepherded inside and handed a too-big pair of Cori’s robes. They insisted on keeping the hood--bloody though it was--and reattached it to the new set. The necromancers cast worried looks at one another as they waited for Ryan to change. There was blood smeared around their eyes, blood caked across their chest. Blood staining their sleeve.

They changed, and then grabbed Malorn’s sleeve again, and dragged him out the door. The necromancers followed. They followed them through Haunted cave, through Triton, through Olde town, the shopping district and the Commons. Ryan had a nearly suicidal lack of care when crossing streets, but no creature dared bother them, frightened by the look in their eyes. They had almost made it to Rainbow bridge, when Ryan swerves, and walked directly into the fast running water. Some of their blood stained it pink. Then they passed through the waterfall.

The necromancers followed trepidatiously, and came face to face with a set of heavy wooden doors flanked by black thorns and sinister looking gargoyles. The mist swirled around their feet as the necromancers were brought into a ruined, section of ground, dotted with half sunken buildings and withered plants. Several tombstones emerged from the roots of a dead tree.

“M-mortis? Is that really you!?” The dark, burnt tree only chuckled, twisting itself to look at him,

“Why,” rumbled the tree, “Little Ashthorn, it is you. I’d have thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“Is…” Malorn stuttered, walking up to the tree and stroked it’s bark as if he didn’t quite believe it was real, “Is Dworgyn here?”

“Yes indeed.” Malorn whooped and ran headlong into the dilapidated classroom. The necromancers followed. When they entered the classroom, it was a peculiar sight. Malorn was hugging a hunchbacked old wizard.

“Guys,” he announced, “This is Dworgyn. He was Professor Malistaire’s teaching assistant.” The necromancers fell silent for a beat before all at once they cheered. Sarai dipped Alexandria into a kiss, Flint embraced Roslyn, Gabe and Valerian hugged, Marcus, Elijah, and Iridium clutched at one another’s forearms, jumping up and down. Angel and Liam performed a secret handshake, and Cori pulled Ryan in, giving them a sisterly noogie. Malorn cleared his throat.

“Now, I’m still technically gonna be your teacher, and we’re still gonna use our classroom… But Dworgyn could be really helpful, so what do you guys think? A couple of hours a week with him here?” The necromancers nodded collectively, still buzzed from the revelation that they finally had found their old classroom.

* * *

The necromancers congregated in the loft of the classroom. It was almost midnight, but they were all too excited to be tired. They had helped Ryan clean up, and without the blood staining their face, they could see heavy bags beneath their still far-off eyes. They chatted comfortably about upcoming lessons and possible spells Dworgyn could teach them. The bells of the mantle clock chimed midnight, and Ryan let out a macabre chuckle.

“Happy birthday to me…” Dead silence filled the warm room.

“It’s your birthday?” Iridium asked

“Um… yeah. Some birthday it’s gonna be. I can’t even have a party...” They grumbled, closing in on themself, burying their head their knees.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Roslyn asked, “We could’ve planned a party!”

“We still can!” interrupted Flint, “Their birthday lasts all day right, we can totally throw something together by-”

“No you don’t understand!” Ryan shouted, standing from their position, eyes full of anger, hands curled into fists at their sides, “You can’t plan a party because I won’t be here.” They turned away from the group, stepping towards the edge of the platform and staring out into the space beyond. “Head-Headmaster Ambrose is sending me to Krokotopia to get the Krokonomicon. He wants me to defeat Malistaire. I was supposed to leave hours ago… but I put it off until tomorrow.” Ryan started crying, “I have to drop my classes.”

“He can’t do that. You’re a kid! Send one of the teachers, Hell, send me! But he can’t send you.” Gabriel had stood up and was working himself into a frenzy, “He’s grooming you into a hero, you’re not being protected by him! We’re the ones protecting you.” Roslyn stood, walking over to Ryan and pulling them away from the edge.

“Gabriel-” Malorn admonished”

“They deserve to have a life Malorn, a chance at fucking happiness. A chance to go to their classes and not have to worry about dying every other day! Every time we see you you look worse and worse. You’re spiralling!” Gabriel was starting to cry now, the other necromancers quickly followed suit.

“Valerian calm him down,” Cori ordered from her protective position behind Ryan. She pulled them to her chest, and stroked their hair as they shook.

“He doesn’t care about you! We do Ryan… We care. We love you.” Gabe yelled. Valerian stood, and pulled the shouting boy down, wrapping his arms around the Gabriel’s shoulders. “We don’t want you to go…” By now the necromancers were all crying, even usually stoic Cori was crying, muffling her sobs in Ryan’s curls from where they had sunk to the floor. The students folded themselves around the pair, bringing blankets and pillows to add to the pile. After a few minutes, Ryan was able to get their breathing under enough control to mutter,

“Th-thanks Gabe. I know that he--” Ryan cut themself off with a sob, “I know… But I’m going anyway. I don’t really have a choice. I’m the only one with a chance of stopping Malistaire.” The were quiet, but determined.

No one slept that night, instead they piled on top of each other, weeping and sniffling for hours until the sun began to rise. Then at dawn, they pulled themselves together, and trooped en masse down to Grandfather tree, where, apparently there was a portal to the rest of the spiral.

They all hugged, but no more tears were shed. There had been enough tears the previous night to last lifetimes.

Ryan walked up to the entrance of the tree, checking their spell deck and adjusting the blood stained hood over their curls. They turned around to face the class one last time before their journey would begin. They looked like they wanted to say something, but they merely opened and closed their mouth in silence, and gave the group a pathetic little wave, hitching their backpack higher on their shoulders.

“Be safe Ry.” Cori called, voice thick with worry.

“I’ll try.” They said. “I love you all…” And with a wistful smile, they were gone.


	9. Chapter 9

Krokotopia was unlike anywhere Ryan had ever been before. The weather wasn’t controlled magically, and there were no walls preventing them from stepping off the edge into oblivion. The islands themselves were smaller too, linked by precarious rope bridges. It was hot and dry, and Ryan had been forced to give up their death robes as soon as they had arrived in order to keep cool (they hadn’t gotten rid of them, but folded them up and left them in the bottom of their backpack. They’d been particularly sad have to give up their dueling hood, but the soft, warm fabric had no place in the oasis).

They’d acquired the proper clothes from a low, white brick building that sat squatly between two pop tents. The robes were little more than long stretches of silken fabric, draped and wrapped around a central belt. They were mostly in shades of red, blue, or light blue, reminiscent of the colors of the robes of elemental students back in ravenwood.

“Excuse me sir, are there any colors other than these?” The mander shopkeep, looked quizzically down his nose at them, saying in a nasally, accented voice,

“We wear these colors to honor the elements, but I have some undyed pieces in the back.”

“Yes, thank you… if you have anything black too, I'd appreciate it.” The shopkeeper nodded indulgently, and left Ryan twiddling their fingers while they obtained the items from the back.

What he came back with was a set of cream colored, linen robes and a black belt. In his other hand, he held a pair of black sandals and a head piece of matching linen, striped with black, and with a black leather headband to keep it in place.

“You are the one who saved Wizard City from Malistaire yes?”

“Um… yes?” The shop keep smiled indulgently, and handed the items over.

“I have heard of your affinity for the dark magic, but you will soon find that black clothing is not appropriate for our weather. But I have secured the headband with a silver skull in order for you to honor your own type of magic.”

“Thank you… Thank you!” Ryan passed the mander a handful of golden coins.

“Oh! And if you are interested in learning more about our history with elemental magic, you should visit the library.” Ryan smiled, promising to do so at the very first change they got,and left with their parcels, seeking out a quiet place to change.

They had to admit, krokotopia was much more bearable in new clothes. The sand got between their toes, and the fine powder puffed up as they strode into the pyramid of the sun. It got cooler as they moved deeper into and under the pyramid, and they were nearly shivering by the time they got into their first fight.

Two on one. Huh. They had thought that was a gobbler specific trait, but apparently not. Cursed slaves and krokomummies fought hard, but ultimately perished under their wand. The interior pyramid was filled with stale air and must, making it difficult to breathe, like a weight was pressing on their chest.

After only two hours Ryan couldn’t take the pressure of their compromised breathing, and had ran out of the pyramid and back into the scorching sun. They doubled over in the center of the cluster of islands, and rested their elbows on their knees, taking long, deep gulps of fresh air. A nearby explorer from Marleybone chuckled at their expense.

“You’ll soon get used to the feeling young wizard. Oh, and as long as you’re here would you mind terribly delivering some supplies to my men? They’ve been stranded in parts of the tomb for days now.” Ryan waved a hand, accepting the mission, before walking exhaustedly to the edge of the shimmering pool of water. They crouched beside it, and splashed their face with the sun warmed water. It didn’t help with the heat, but the familiar gesture calmed them. They stood, squinting into the sun, and their eyes alighted upon a building, seperated into arches, over white stucco. The walls were painted with hieroglyphs that seemed to suggest scrolls and magic.

The library.

Ryan exhaled. It was as good of a place as any to take a break from the pressure of the pyramid and the heat of the oasis. The blue wooden doors opened on well oiled hinges, as if they too were scared to disturb the silence of the library.

The library had two floors, and a small desk manned by a mander. He waved at Ryan, a flicker of the fingers, and gestured to please be quiet. Murals of familiar patterns were painted on the walls. Storm. Fire. Ice. The elemental types of magic.

Ryan walked up the stairs--the water from earlier beginning to cool on their face and neck where they’d splashed it--and noted that this library seemed much less organized than the one in the commons. Scrolls were tucked between the spindles of the rail, stacks of parchment bound with twine balanced precariously on knule posts. As they got farther up the painted staircase, the scrolls became more and more plentiful, squashed to fit in the mismatched shelves that lined the walls.

They brushed past a shelf, shoulder catching on a protruding scroll, sending it tumbling to the floor. The clatter was loud in the silence of the library, and Ryan whispered,

“Sorry…” as the picked up the fallen scroll.

Hieroglyphs were scrawled in neat rows, reading from the top to the bottom of the scroll. The glyphs were somewhat decipherable, with familiar pictures. Storm, Balance, Titan, Sea. These were obvious, but there were plenty of symbols that made no sense. A spiral cracked in three, a trident spearing a cloud… None of it made any sense, but Ryan didn’t speak the language. They rolled the scroll up tightly, keeping both sides even and slotted it back into place. They found it necessary to press many of the other scrolls out of the way in order to properly fit it on the shelf. They sighed, and took one more look around the library.

It was pleasant here. They’d be back to visit whenever the tombs got to be too much for them to handle.


	10. Chapter 10

Ryan was supposed to burn the mummies. Burn them. Destroy the wrappings and the dessicated flesh beneath them. They accepted their mission (anything to help settle the feud between ancient families) despite not wanting to do so. They walked up to a sarcophagus, hands sweating from nerves. They pulled flint and steel from a pocket, and inhaled deeply, apologizing to the krok.

They struck metal against stone, sparks leaping off onto the oily bandages that wrapped the mummy. The wrappings caught on fire, and the mummy began to burn, filling the air with acrid black smoke. They pulled the collar of their robes over their nose and mouth to avoid breathing in any of the burning mummy. They couldn’t leave, fixated by the scene. Their eyes began to water, and they lowered themself until they were sitting on the cold stones of the pavement, and leaned against the side of the sarcophagus. They could almost hear the wailing of the mummy’s spirit as its earthly vessel burned away. They screwed their eyes shut, and clamped their hands over their ears in a vain attempt to block out the hallucinated noise.

Only two more mummies to burn.


	11. Chapter 11

Ryan was tired of walking. There was so much walking in Krokotopia, from the depths of the pyramid all the way out to the krokosphinx took them almost half an hour to complete, and due to the weight of the air down in the tomb, they had to make the trip several times per day. Wizard City had been one thing, with signage and clearly labeled streets and towers, but the pyramid of the sun was simply too big to memorize, with signs written in hieroglyphs. It was impossible to navigate, and Ryan got lost more often than not. There needed to be a better way to navigate.

In the time between battles, diplomatic missions, and destroying sacred burials, Ryan visited the library to research. Specifically, they wanted to find a way to travel quickly between streets. They spent hours and days sitting on the edge of the balcony, legs dangling between the spindles of the staircase, attempting to decipher the scrolls on transportation. After a few visits to the library, Zan’ne had begun to translate scrolls for them, and left them in a pile on an upstairs lectern.

Ryan inhaled deeply as they entered the library for the first time in almost a week. They’d just spent six hours in the lowest layers of the tomb, and breathing in the cool, light air of the library felt off somehow. Having spent so long in the heavy atmosphere of the tombs, even deep breaths felt like hyperventilating. They’d adjust, they always adjusted, but the change was hard to deal with. They passed Zan’ne at the front desk, giving him a wave as they wheezed in a breath.

Only one scroll was left on the lectern this time, the oldest one that they’d seen in the library. The parchment was yellowed and browned with age, with tears along the side. One of the handles was cracked down the middle. They picked it up carefully, and moved to their usual spot. They carefully unrolled the scroll, noting the symbols of a sun, a moon, and a star inscribed in faded ink at the top. A fresh sheet of parchment was tucked inside the scroll, slightly curled from its time spent inside the old scroll.

It was written in shaky letters, the handwriting, if not the grammar, of someone who was used to writing in another language. It was pared down to what Zan’ne assumed Ryan would find most useful.

  
_**Powerful wizards are able to detect auras, and can identify their own aura even from a great distance. The easiest way to leave behind part of your is through blood. A few drops will suffice to paint the symbol below. You will then be able to detect the bit of yourself left behind and, with practice, be able to teleport to that location. This only works once for each fresh drop of blood, as, once teleported too, the part of your aura left behind will assimilate with your own. Teleporting consumes much of your energy, so it cannot be used too often.**_

Ryan’s eyes flicked back to the scroll, finding the symbol mentioned. It was a simple X marked inside a circle. Easy enough.Teleporting. And Ryan could see auras… and they left blood behind in a lot of places… maybe they could test it out. They stood, returning scroll and parchment to the lectern. They unsheathed their athame (a practiced motion by now), and pricked their thumb, bending down to leave a smudge of blood in the symbol they remembered from the scroll on the sandstone brick floor. They quickly moved away from the symbol, worried it might spark with visible magic.

It didn’t.

The blood merely sat there, darkening slightly in color as it dried. Ryan didn’t touch it anyway, and quickly left the library, thanking Zan’ne on their way out. They shaded their eyes from the Krokotopian sunshine, and wondered exactly how far they would have to travel before they could attempt to teleport back. The other side of the oasis pond should be far enough. They reached their destination, and closed their eyes, attempting to concentrate on auras.

Red, yellow, opalescent, feathery, loud, silent. The auras of the citizens overwhelmed them, and they struggled to block them out and focus on their own aura. In their mind’s eye, they began to see it. The oil slick that was the reflection of their soul (Ryan tried not to think about it too hard). The scent of burning rubber flooded their senses, and soon the sound of crackling electricity had eclipsed the burbling of the pond. The concentrated harder, attempting to pick out the exact shape. It became clearer and clearer in their mind, become closer and closer to the shape that they remembered drawing.

It came into sharp focus, and they felt a heavy presence in their gut, like they’d swallowed a magnet now being pulled on from the outside. The feeling grew stronger and stronger until suddenly their sense of the symbol disappeared entirely. The smell disappeared, their vision snapped to black, and the crackling noise was replaced by silence.

It was too silent, too odorless, too dark. They opened their eyes, and found themself still back in the oasis, but somehow out of time. The feeling in their stomach grew even stronger, and at the moment that it transferred from pressure to pain, they found themselves pulled as the feeling disappeared. The space into which they were pulled was dark in a way that couldn’t be achieved by closing their eyes. It hurt to look at, and they closed their eyes, longing for something brighter than the shadows they had been staring into. They were moving extremely quickly in what seemed to be all directions. They couldn’t pinpoint which way they were being pulled, and quickly stopped trying to figure it out.

The first sensation that came back to them was sound. A crackling. Then the smell of burning rubber, the feeling of being coated in oil, then the symbol, crisp and clearly defined appeared before them, much bigger than before. The edges of the symbol began to blur, and it slowly grew more circular. The sounds, feelings and smells began to fade, replaced by the familiar trappings of the library.

They opened their eyes. And found themself once again in the library, standing exactly on the spot where they had inscribed the symbol. They stepped away, and the blood seemed to fully evaporate, red steam rising from the ground and dissipating. The symbol was gone, the floor appearing as though it had never been stained in the first place.

They quickly repainted the symbol, and smiled, ready to return to the pyramid now that they knew they could return to the surface as soon as they needed to.


	12. Chapter 12

Ryan narrowly avoided being punched out by a muscle bound cat thug, and quickly moved to the edge of the roof, using the brick half wall as a balance beam to avoid coming into contact with the thugs, rats, and insects that populated the roofs of marleybone. They sighed, and hopped the gap between buildings, leather boots scraping on the cement. The clothes they had bought in Krokoptopia were inappropriate for the chilly, damp weather of marleybone, so they’d swapped the linens for boot, a bowler hat, and a heavy black and silver overcoat.

They pulled out their athame, and jammed it between the panels of a crate, prying it apart. Inside was the supplies they had been told to collect. It was almost routine now:

“Can you please clear off these streets?”

“They’ve stolen my supplies, can you gather them up for me?”

“One of them took my purse, keep killing them until you find it!”

Every order, every request blended together. Some would give them gold for their troubles, some would simply smile. Some wouldn’t make eye contact with them, too afraid of the fabled necromancer that had killed so many. They’d still ask for favors, but refused to treat them like a human instead of a tool. Job followed job, and Ryan chased Meowiarty all across the city, summoning power pips when needed. They worked almost constantly, attempting to ignore the itchy feeling inside their skin.

Ryan sat on the edge of a roof, legs dangling into the gap below. The section of roof was clear from anything that might attack them, Ryan having cleared it out and removed the bridges (the planks now sat in a pile in the middle of the concrete square, waiting to be replaced when Ryan had to leave). They had tucked their arms inside their coat, leaving their sleeves hanging empty, moving slightly with every breath of wind. Inside their coat that had wrapped their arms tightly around their torso, making as much skin contact as they could. The itching feeling had eased slightly, but the contact of Ryan’s arms only made it more obvious exactly what the feeling was.

They needed touch.

From their friends--their family--back in wizard city. Malorn’s hand on their shoulder, Cori’s knuckles in their hair… they missed them. It was lonely traveling all the time. They shuddered, but not from the cold. Ryan leaned back, allowing their hat to drop from their head, bouncing back across the cement. They snaked their arms up, unbuttoning the first few buttons on the jacket, allowing them to cradle their head in their hands. They twined their fingers in their hair, and began to rub small circles in the base of their skull, rocking slightly in a dangerous way that--had they been back in Wizard city--the necromancer’s would have been terrified by.

They closed their eyes tightly, and found their vision flooded by the familiar color of their aura, shimmering with opalescent un-rainbows. They tried to block it out, to focus on the darkness rather than the colors--tried to focus on anything but their own aura. They focused on their friends, trying to recall details of them that had been blurred by Ryan’s own overwhelming loneliness.

Malorn: with his long suffering sighs and close lipped smiles. His aura a deep navy, that smelled of sawdust. His hand on their shoulder had always felt like silk shifting against them. Malorn was paternal with the necromancers, protecting them from scathing remarks made by the students and staff. He was the first to suggest a compromise, but the last to settle for maltreatment.

Alexandria: expressive with her emotions, and easy to understand. Her aura was a dull gold, and, despite smelling of hot chocolate, always felt like a thick mist, leaving behind dew on their skin. Alexandria was the one to take care of Bones while Ryan was away, and had taken to teaching her tricks that she would excitedly show Ryan when they returned (something that hadn’t occurred for almost two months).

Sarai: the steady force, immovable, but who melted under attention from her girlfriend. Her aura smelled of cold water, colored dark grey. Sarai was rarely close enough to Ryan for them to feel her magic, but when she was it was surprisingly soft, like downy fur. They were quiet, and rarely spoke up, but were always one to champion others’ ideas.

Iridium: who had an uncanny ability to worm her way into someone else’s personal space. Her aura was strange, a fuschia bright enough that they Ryan couldn’t maintain eye contact with it for more than a few moments, that smelled of fruit, and when Iridium was near (as she almost always seemed to be), they could feel the scratch of wool wherever she touched them. She as up for a fight with a skeleton as much as she was ready to paint their nails at three in the morning.

Roslyn: Loud and brash, with a vivacious personality and a repertoire of jokes that Ryan struggled to remember. Her magic smelled like the earth after rain (petrichor… they’d been told by Elijah that it was called petrichor), and slowly dripped off her like lime green slime. She slept in often, and took naps in the afternoon, always trying and failing to convince Ryan to join her.

Liam: who was skilled in medicine, and who studied healing spells in his free time. He always had a smile on his face, even if it was a nervous one, and could be found fishing in the commons on weekends. Their magic presented most often when wrapping wounds or scolding injured necromancers, orange and papery, scented with bread dough. He had once attempted to wrap Ryan in so many blankets that they would be unable to hurt themself on any of the furniture in the tower.

Angel: who was smarter than they let on, able to calculate exactly how powerful spells would be in seconds. They had used their magic--solid and cobalt blue, with the smell of old books--to conduct experiments, attempting to learn exactly what percentage traps and blades increased a spell’s damage by. They’d written their data down, but they hadn’t finished by the time Ryan was forced to leave, and gifted them the unprocessed data on one of Ryan’s trips home that they were still unable to decipher.

Elijah: tightly wound to the point where it seemed like any loud noise would cause his magic to ignite. He had never snapped, not in Ryan’s memory of him, but his aura was always agitated, bubbling at the edges like it wanted to burst out. He wasn’t a strong spellcaster, but his aura was strong, royal purple and bumpy, with the strong smell of rosin that clung so tightly to him that even those who couldn’t see auras claimed to be able to smell it.

Flint: who ran quickly and laughed even quicker. He was always happy to indulge Ryan in a childish game despite being four years older than them. His magic smelled like cotton candy, and was just as sticky, and just as pink. He was flamboyant, and used wild hand movements when he talked. He was chatty, but listened intently when someone had something to say, refusing to talk over someone else.

Valerian: who spent far too much time brewing potions that kept Ryan alive, but always left vials of them hidden in a basket at the base of Bartleby, not questioning it when Ryan took them without even leaving a note. There were always potions there, and they looked just like his aura. It was strange, drinking something that resembled his aura so closely, but the periwinkle potions, glittered, smelled, and felt exactly the same way his magic did.

Marcus: angry and snappish, with an unfortunate habit of getting into late night fights with rotting fodders. His aura was dark green, smelled like mint and felt like wood, and could often be seen lashing out at creatures who looked angrily at the necromancers as they passed them. He had been in multiple fist fights, at least one of them on Ryan’s behalf. He seemed angry, but was surprisingly patient with his friends, always letting Iridium lean on him, always allowing Valerian to ramble at him, always asking Ryan if they were okay.

Gabe: unreasonably tall and as protective as his aura--it looked, smelled, and felt like a metal suit of armor. He navigated the city with ease, and seemed to always have the right things in his bag for any situation. He had a crush on Valerian that everyone knew about but no one told him about, and was always hovering around the other boy. Ryan hadn’t noticed, too caught up in their new school of magic. Gabe had told them a few nights into their exploration of Colossus Boulevard, and the display of trust had warmed them.

Cori: the older sister Ryan had never envisioned having. They knew her aura well--a red that matched her hair, with a smell of cooking meat. Every time she scraped her knuckles through their hair, they felt as though grains of hot sand were pouring down their scalp. She had taken them under her wing, and given them some of her most precious possessions. They’d only seen her cry on the night that they left, and never wanted to be the cause of those tears again.

Ryan felt themself begin to tear up. They hoped that their friends hadn’t forgotten them. They wiped their face, and clutched themself tighter.


	13. Chapter 13

This was a mistake. Ryan had made a lot of mistakes recently, starting with neglecting to revisit Wizard City, and ending with the current mistake: this fight. Lately, Ryan had begun to stop caring so much about the outcome of fights, fleeing when necessary, winning when not, but tonight, Ryan had decided not to drink a potion before engaging in a fight with two of the cat thugs that had attempted to push them out of their territory. They’d merely glared at the two cats before summoning a battle sigil, taking a perverse joy in the startled yelps the thugs made as they were sucked into the dueling space.

Ryan knew that they weren’t ready for this fight. They were exhausted, distracted, and one look at the circle surrounding their feet showed that they couldn’t take much damage before they passed out. They were feeling reckless though, and so they fixed a wild grin on their face and began to weave their magic into spells, summoning a power pip every round without regard for the number of cuts they were creating.

They stacked a blade, a feint, a curse, a death trap, a spirit blade. They had two options, heal themself with the satyr spell they’d learned from Professor Wu, or cast a brutally effective pirate spell.

They fingered the satyr spell, and threw it behind them, discarding it. And dropped the pirate spell to the sigil below. It was Ryan’s turn first, and they twirled their wand in the familiar motion of a skull.

Black powder showered them as the spell fizzled. Ryan nearly dropped their wand, slack jawed at the horrific timing of the fizzle. The signifier in the center turned to the first Thug, and Ryan heard a laugh as the spell succeeded. A heckhound too large to fit inside the house, forced its way through the tiny door and onto the sigil. Where a normal dog would have saliva, the heckhound dripped lava, and Ryan could feel the heat emanating from the center of the circle. The dog snarled, and blasted Ryan with something that was not quite fire and not quite air, but some combination of the two that blasted their hair behind them and knocked their hat completely off their head. The fiery breath died down, leaving Ryan feeling like they had been sunburned. A symbol of the damage that would be taken next round appeared. They looked down at the circle enclosing their feet. It was almost empty. The next damage from the heckhound would finish them off.

They weren’t looking forward to fleeing, but if it meant that they survived, they would. They ruffled their hair, and looked up just in time to catch sight of a scorpion go skittering into the circle.

_Shit._

The arachnid, reared back on is back legs and spat sand at Ryan. The grains dug into their flesh beneath their overcoat, leaving thousands of tiny bleeding holes. Black began to encroach on their vision, and they listed to the side, crashing to the roof tiles beneath them. They heard a whoosh as the sigil vanished, and the triumphant laughter of the thugs, before an oil slick of color filled their vision, and they passed out.

* * *

Elijah was walking to Professor Drake’s room. He was hoping that, by asking nicely enough, he would be allowed to learn myth spells alongside death spells. This was a long shot, as Cyrus Drake was not a man known for his patience, even with his own students. But Elijah had hoped his tenacity and excellent grades in the Professor’s magical theory class would hold some sway. He shuffled through his notecards as he traversed the shopping district, mumbling the pre-written speech allowed:

“Good evening Professor Drake, I’d like to talk to you about possibly taking some lessons in conjuring outside of class.” He flipped to his next notecard, “Reasons for wanting to learn myth magic: expansion of knowledge, connection to monstrology course, deep appreciation for the art of--” He stopped talking as he entered the tunnel to the commons. “Hmm… that sounds a little pretentious, gotta change that. Maybe ‘combination with necromancy’? Does that sound better?” He fished in his satchel for a quill, pre-inked by magic. All of his quills were pre-inked, he took too many notes to not make use of the simple spell. He scratched out the offending sentence, and replaced it with the new one, muttering the words as he did so. A blur of red robes passed by on his left, and he rotated his shoulders in a practiced motion to avoid being bumped into (it was probably intentional… people always found it funny to bump into him while he was writing). Sunlight flooded over the paper as he finished writing the new sentence and entered the commons. He flipped to his next card, and spun in a circle to avoid another attempted bump--this time yellow robes--never taking his eyes off the notecard in his hands. He began to mumble the words again.

“Reasons Drake might say no to my request: He thinks I’m incapable, he doesn’t want to work with a necromancer, he doesn’t accept out of class students, he’s an asshole, he--”

A loud pop. A scream. Stampeding feet. Elijah looked up from his notecards to see a flood of students surrounding a spot near the exit to the tunnel in Ravenwood. They were whispering, pointing at something in the center of them. They had formed almost a perfect circle around the point of interest that no one was willing to cross. Elijah began to walk forward, intrigued. The whispers grew louder, clearer as he drew nearer, and he began to catch snippets of conversation.

“--I always figured--”

“--deserved it--”

“--thank merlin--”

Elijah grew closer, and found his eyes drawn to the feet of the crowd. Identical pairs of boots shuffled as a trickle of red liquid made its way through the crowd. None of the bystanders were willing to get it on their uniforms.

“--lot of blood--”

“--what happened?--”

“--Ryan--”

Ryan.

Ryan Ryan Ryan. Elijah broke into a run, and shoved his way between the members of the crowd, using his shoulder to power through them, bumping them in the exact way he’d been trying to avoid being bumped not even a minute earlier.

Ryan was back. Ryan was back and someone had screamed and there was blood on the cobblestones.

“Move! Fucking move!” Elijah yelled, dropping his notecards and quill to be trampled into the blood by the crowd. He dropped to his knees in the center of the empty circle that always seemed to surround Ryan. There they were, smoking with colors Elijah didn’t recognize, bleeding from a thousand tiny wounds in their chest, pink with burns and wearing clothes Elijah didn’t recognize from any of the shops in Wizard City--an overcoat and soft leather boots with dozens of buckles.

Their body was splayed across the cobbles, their legs and hips elevated on the sidewalk. The blood from their chest ran downward and matted their hair and turned it the color of Cori’s. Elijah leaned down, pressing fingers to their neck. A butterfly’s pulse. Closer to Ryan Elijah was overcome with sensory information. The un-colors grew brighter, moving like reflected rainbows in an oil slick, a crackle of what sounded like sparking electricity filled his ears, and he had to reel back at the stench of burning rubber that was completely at odds with the scene before him.

“Someone get help!” No one moved, the muttering increasing in volume. “Someone! Please!” The crowd shuffled, refusing to make eye contact with Elijah, but continuing to gawk at Ryan’s broken body. “Please!” Elijah began to tear up. Finally realizing that no one was going to lift a finger, he moved to lift Ryan up, carrying their slight form in his arms. Had Ryan always been this light?

He had to go. To the tower, that would be the only safe place for Ryan. Malorn and Liam could fix them up. He had to hurry. He barreled down the cobbled path, shoving students out of his way. He cut the corner and trampled over bright green grass, drops of scarlet blood staining the freshly cut lawn.

Through the twisting alleys of the shopping district, Elijah ran. He allowed himself a moment to pause, to catch his breath. He leaned against the wall of the deck shop, allowing Ryan’s weight to slump in his arms. Elijah only paused for one, two, four heartbeats. One breath. He kept moving. Couldn’t stop, wouldn’t allow himself to stop again.

The wind buffeted his face in Olde Town, whipping at his cheeks. He slipped as he moved down the slick cobbled ramp, sliding a few feet before recentering his balance. He took half a second to make sure that he hadn’t hurt Ryan before darting down the tunnel to Triton avenue.

The light rain of Triton dampened his clothes and hair. He could see it collecting on Ryan’s torso, mixing with the hot blood, a pink liquid pooling there. Elijah didn’t have time to stick religiously to the sidewalks and ran across the road when needed. No monster crossed his path.

He flitted up the teleporter, feeling a swoop in his gut as he struggled to keep his hold on Ryan. He stumbled off the teleport pad, feet tripping over themselves. His stomach wanted to pitch headlong, but he stubbornly refused to fall. If he stopped now he’d never make it.

More water, fog, mist. It all blurred together, but he found himself standing at the entrance to Haunted cave. He let out a sob of relief, his arms burning with strain, not being used to carrying such weight for such a long time.

The dark and the cool engulfed him. Elijah stumbled down the overgrown sidewalks, breath coming in sharp gasps. He turned a corner, narrowly avoiding a thornbush. The tower was in sight. Soft yellow light casting a glow over the burnt grass around it.

That was when Ryan started to scream.

It was something raw and wet and painful sounding. It wrenched something within him.

“Oh Merlin Ry. we’re almost there, hold on.” The scream cut off as suddenly as if had arrived. He was only steps from the tower, and as Ryan spasmed with newly awakened pain, He shouldered the door open, pushing them both inside. “Malorn!” Elijah yelled, staggering to the center of the room. The necromancers popped their heads over the balcony, and turned deathly pale at the nasty sight. Elijah laid Ryan down on the floorboards. “I need your help. Now!”

“What’s Ryan doing here, I thought they were still off world.” Malorn called, jumping the last few rungs of the ladder to the floor. He rushed over to Elijah and Ryan, and quickly took their pulse. His expression grave. Malorn carefully unbuttoned Ryan’s robes to examine the wounds. “Looks like a scorpion. A potion should take care of it… where’s the rest of the blood coming from.” Elijah paused, looking over Ryan’s wounds.

The tiny divots caused by the sand were bleeding, but only enough to soak the formerly white button down shirt. Elijah furrowed his eyebrows, and cocked his head. He removed the overcoat entirely and gasped.

Their left sleeve was rolled up to their elbow, almost a dozen cuts criss crossing all up and down the top of their forearm. They weren’t in neat rows, instead crossing over each other. They were wildly different sizes and lengths. Several pale scars intersected the fresh cuts. It was strange. Given the large amount of healing potions Ryan drank, they shouldn’t have any new scars. They were definitely new scars.

“Malorn, I’ve got a healing potion here you--” Valerian cut himself off as he saw the wounds on Ryan’s arm. “Are… are those?”

“Just give me the potion Valerian. We’ll deal with this when Ryan wakes up.” The necromancers were all thinking the same thing, but it remained unspoken in the quiet of the tower: _if Ryan wakes up._


	14. Chapter 14

Ryan wasn’t sure what they were expecting to wake up to… to be honest they weren’t really expecting to wake up, but if they awoke, they had expected to awake back on the rooftop in marleybone. They weren’t expecting the soft warmth, the weight of a blanket. They weren’t expecting the familiar feeling of a paws kneading at their stomach. A hard pressure gripped their hand. Opening their eyes was a challenge, it felt like their aura was sticking to them, preventing them from moving. They finally succeeded though and found themself staring at the ceiling of what appeared to be the death classroom.

That was impossible though, because Ryan had been in Marleybone… they hadn’t been anywhere near the comforts of home. They turned their head to the side, taking in the scene. They were definitely in the death classroom, in their own bed specifically. Someone had dressed them in their old school robes, and rolled the sleeves up. They had been covered in at least three blankets. Cori was sitting on the floor, leaning against their bed, her hand tightly gripping theirs. She was asleep, judging by her even breaths and lolling head, and quiet snores buzzed in their ears. Ryan moved their head to look at the weight resting on their chest. Bones, making cookies that Ryan could feel even through the layers and layers of blankets. Ryan smiled, moving their free hand to scritch behind the panther’s ears. The cat purred, and settled deeper into the blanket nest covering Ryan’s chest. Ryan’s eyes flicked upward.

Malorn was seated in a chair at the end of Ryan’s bed, elbows propping him up on his knees, head hung. Ryan tried to talk, but the sound came out sticky and mumbled, quieter than they’d hoped for.

“M-Malorn…” Their teacher looked up sharply, inhaling suddenly as he was shocked out of his stupor. Malorn stared Ryan down for a few moments, breathing deeply. Ryan grew more and more nervous with each silent second that passed.

“Hey kiddo… you scared us back there.” Malorn's voice was just as quiet and just as hoarse as Ryan’s was. Ryan’s eyes began to water, and the breath in their chest hitched, upsetting the panther that rested there. Bones gave them a disgruntled looks and stood up, legs poking into their still sore chest. The cat hopped off their chest, and curled up again at their side. Ryan began to cry, tears dripping down their face. Their breath came in gasps and starts, and they concentrated hard to keep quiet so as not to wake up Cori.

“I--I’m sorry… I--”

“Shhh… just relax Ry. You’re safe.”

“What happened? I… I thought I died…” Malorn flinched at their words, rubbing his temples.

“No… you didn’t die… just appeared. Here. In the commons. Showed up right in the middle of the afternoon. Elijah carried you here.”

“I… I don’t know how--” That wasn’t exactly true… Ryan had been practicing teleportation, and when they struggled to recall the exact circumstances of their loss in the fight, they remembered the overwhelming presence of their aura, just like when they teleported. “I mean… I must’ve… must’ve teleported here. But I didn’t have a symbol here how could I have?” Ryan trailed off at the look of utter confusion in Malorn’s eyes. “Yeah… I can. I can do that now.” Malorn huffed out a breath, shaking his head. He was smiling though beneath his shaggy bangs, more amazed than shocked.

“I guess if anyone could it’d be you.” Ryan smiled weakly back, and turned their gaze back to Cori. “She’s been there all night. Hasn’t left your side.” Ryan snuffled, fresh tears forming in already wet eyes. Malorn cleared his throat quietly. Ryan nodded, showing that they’d heard, but kept their eyes on Cori. “Ryan we… we saw that you had cuts… on your arm and--” Malorn cut himself off, not knowing how to continue. “Are… are you okay?” Ryan hummed, focusing on the hairs that curled out of their surrogate sister’s ponytail…

“I’m fine!” They tried to say it brightly, but their smile was dampened by the tear tracks still staining their face. “Really…” They heard Malorn shift in his chair, and focused on counting the hairs that clung to the mattress, held there by static electricity. One. Two. Three.

“Ryan. We--”

“You don’t… don’t get it. I’m not--not hurting myself I just…” Four. Five. Six. “It’s hard. Everything is so hard and I can’t--” Seven. Eight. They blinked, tears brimming. They lost count. Onetwothreefourfive. “It’s always two on one and if I don’t use power pips they’ll kill me.” Six… six… damn it why couldn’t they count properly “If I hadn’t fizzled I would’ve beaten them. I can beat them if I use power pips and…” They lost count again, too focused on talking.

“Ryan, you’re not making any sense. Power pips? What are--”

“I did some reading.” Their eyes were unfocused now. Counting was impossible, so they shut their eyes, a fresh wave of warmth rolled down their cheeks. “I… I did some reading and I found out about these things called power pips, and they’re twice as good as normal pips and they make it so I can survive when I trip and get sucked into a sigil with two kroks, or ghosts, or giant fucking spiders and I can’t--” Ryan’s free hand drifted to Bones, fingers gripping the panther’s fur roughly. The cat didn’t object though. “And I can’t survive without using them.” Ryan opened their eyes, making eye contact with Malorn.

He was crying, his hand pressed over his mouth.

“Ryan… you…”

“Yeah. Magic costs. Costs a lot. I need the blood to travel, to summon the pips. Has to be willingly given for the spell to work. They chuckled sadly. I usually drink potions to heal up, but sometimes I run out.”

“Ry… I. Promise me you won’t--”

“I can’t.” Malorn nodded, pressing his lips together.

“I figured.” Ryan sat up, untangling their hand from Bones’ fur, smoothing out the hair where it had become rucked up.

“Malorn… I have to. I have to go.”

“Ryan please. Stay.” Malorn pleaded as Ryan began to carefully remove their hand from Cori’s grasp. She stirred, and Ryan stopped moving, waiting for her to settle before prying their fingers out of her grip. They flipped the blankets off their legs and scooted to the edge of the bed. “Just for a little while kiddo. We’ve missed you we--” Malorn’s voice caught as he stood up alongside Ryan.

“I’m sorry.” Ryan began to move towards the staircase down to the first floor only to have their path blocked by Malorn.

“Please Ryan… just for a day.” Malorn looked at them pleadingly, and the two engaged in a silent standoff as Malorn waited for Ryan to answer him.

“Malorn--” they wanted more than anything in the world to say yes. To return to the warm bed, curl up around Bones, and count the hairs that had fallen out from Cori’s ponytail. They wanted to joke with Flynn and study with Elijah. They wanted to teach their friends everything that they’d learned while away. They wanted to forget about Malistaire, let someone older take care of it. They wanted to go to class, to ride their broom through the commons, to spend rainy afternoons in Triton taunting rotting fodders as their friends laughed.

They wanted to stay.

They couldn’t stay.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” They were pulled into a tight hug, Malorn’s hands gripping tightly at the too big robes, his body shaking as it folded around Ryan’s. He sobbed into the smaller necromancer, pressing his face into the crown of their head. Ryan began to shake as well, and clutched just as tightly back at Malorn.

“Just… come home.” Malorn whispered, voice barely comprehensible.

“I promise. Always.” Ryan extricated themself from the hug and moved to the open space of the loft, picking up their backpack from where it was leaning against the stair railing. They turning back to Malorn. He looked lost--small--as he clutched himself, still shaking, face wet with tears. “Tell them…” Ryan struggled to think, “Tell them that I--” They stopped, unable to decide on the right words.

“I will. I’ll tell them.” Ryan smiled, still crying.

They closed their eyes.

Crackling electricity. Burning rubber. Oil slick.

They were gone.


	15. Chapter 15

Being Headmaster Ambrose’s personal necromancer was exhausting, and it really wasn’t worth it. Ryan had bounced from Wizard City to Krokotopia to Marleybone, and now was assigned to Mooshu.

Mooshu, Ryan thought, could certainly be beautiful. The Jade Palace was calm, serene, and the temples on either side were equally as soothing. But the emperor was still and sickly, and the subdued air of the samoorai and goat monks was palpable in the hot, humid, afternoon. Tan Keng, Ryan’s contact in Mooshu, was powerful. They could sense it, he had a magical aura of rippling blue, like light through the clearest of water. It had a clean, airy feeling, and when Ryan bowed before him, it felt like they’d been dunked in a cold stream. True, he was old and feeble, but he had more magical energy in his left forehoof than Ryan had in their entire body. The headmaster insisted that they follow Keng’s every request, and so, without complaint, Ryan solved his problems. Just like they did in Wizard City, just like they did in Krokotopia, and in Marleybone. Because that was what they did.

Ryan fought the War Oni for him.

Defeating Warlord Katsumori was a relief, a breath of clean air, but then his unconscious form shifted, bones growing at odd angles, leathery hide splitting apart and growing new panels of elephant armor beneath it.

So Ryan defeated the War Oni. Like they always have. They saved a part of its spirit for their own personal gain, a new spell from Dworgyn being the real prize they were after. The War Oni was dry heat. Hot winds and heavy pressure, and his heatwave aura pressed against Ryan’s chest like a boulder. They felt as though their ribs might crack under the pressure.

But Ryan built up their power, ritual after ritual, power pip after power pip to use in more advanced spells. They channeled themself into their magic, spending a bit of themself to summon a skeleton or a vampire, a banshee, a wraith, a shield. Ryan wins, the War Oni falling, discorporating. Ryan drank a potion, enjoying the feeling of their wounds knitting together.  
Ryan staggered from the Crimson fields, bottled spirit hidden beneath their kimono. The overcoat had been entirely unsuitable for the humidity of Mooshu, and they had quickly bought a silver silk kimono, embroidered with black bones that encircled their sleeves and collar like jewelry. They walked from battle to battle in a pair of sandals, and a fitted samurai helmet protected them from the sunlight. They stumbled back to the Jade Palace, tripping beneath the heat of the sun. They head to Tan Keng, bowing deeply.

“Sir… I killed--defeated--the War Oni. It won’t trouble you anymore.”

“Thank you young wizard…” Ryan smiled, not daring to leave their bowed position. “But there is still more that you must do.” Ryan stopped smiling. Not again. They go to a quiet place within them, listening to what the monk was saying but not truly hearing him. But Ryan smiled, nodded, respectfully left Tan Keng’s presence. He wanted Ryan to defeat the Plague Oni next.

Ryan went. Like a good little hero.

They get the keys, and they light the shrines and while they’re fighting the wavebringer--purifying that corrupted spirit--they lose.

The phantom teeth of a lightning shark tear Ryan in two and they lose.

They wake up in the commons. It was becoming a common occurrence. Ryan had gotten better at teleporting away from a fight, even without a symbol to latch onto. They never appeared in the exact same spot. Sometimes they popped up by the library, sometimes next to Gamma’s tower, and, on one memorable occasion, they had teleported into the middle of the pond, and nearly drowned before they regained enough control to wade out.

This time, they woke up slumped against the stairs to Headmaster Ambrose’s office. They struggled to stand, putting all their weight on the stone brick railing. Their head swam, and as they blinked, flashes of their aura came through, sound and smell and sight, overwhelming at first but slowly fading as they came back into themself. Once they felt fully solidified in their body, they took a swig from the hip flask full of healing potion. Their vertigo stalled, and they ran a hand through their hair, blowing out a breath that trilled their lips.

They stumbled across the cobblestones, so unlike to damp grass and dusty paths of Mooshu. A cool breeze wafted through the courtyard and the passing students swerved away, just as they always did. There was no gossip at Ryan’s appearance… just the usual refusal to get too near, as if they were afraid that Ryan might bite them, or that they might get infected with the same incurable strain of heroism that plagued them. Ryan concentrated hard, and they felt the spot where they last drew a symbol.

Ryan, despite seeing it constantly, was always terrified by their own aura. It was easy to pick out of the jumble of other colors, sounds, and smells. It left a very distinctive mark. A smudge of black oil, dark un-rainbows dancing on the surface. The not-colors burnt their eyes. It smelt like burning rubber and whenever they teleported, they felt as though they had been smudged all over with still drying glue. The feeling always dissipated, just as the smells and sounds did, but it made them feel unclean. They always wanted a shower after teleporting.

Ryan concentrated harder, and drew themself into their magic, allowing their aura to completely take over. When they opened their eyes, they found themself swaying on the spot in front of a very clearly living wavebringer. Ryan stumbled backwards, tripping over their feet, frantic in their rush to get away from the swirling spirit of scummy pond water. A cloud of mosquitoes buzzed around the glowing eyes that floated in it’s head.

Ryan sighed, straightened their shoulders and struggled to clear their head, attempted to focus on surviving their next round of battle with the wavebringer. They swallowed another mouthful of potion, instantly feeling better. They flip their fingers together, and summon the sigil, bolstering their courage.

The courage used was not in vain. Spots from a fresh cut used to summon a power pip stain the dusty dirt as the battle sigil fades away. They didn’t lose. They don’t want to lose any more. Ryan adjusted the grip on their athame, readying it for the power pips they know that they’ll need to summon, and cautiously stepped into the darkness beyond the columns at the entrance of the Plague Oni’s temple.

The first thing that hit Ryan was the smell. Like putrid garbage, or a burning rotting fodder. The smell was gore, rot, hate. But the smell did nothing to prepare them for what came next. Warlord Ideyoshi was a disgusting, angry looking boar, and pieces of his green hide were split open, yellow-white pus bubbling up between the cracks, oozing over the sides. The stench only grew stronger as they neared him, it was poison, stickiness. His aura was a sickly yellow-green.

Ryan tightened their grip on their wand. They inhaled. Exhaled. Remaining in the temple was an almost impossible task. Willingly summoning a sigil with him? Intolerable. But Ryan did it anyway, and was sucked in by the magnetic hold of the sigil. Coursing energy formed a disc, ancient runes circled a vortex. A symbol at Ryan’s feet marked their place. A sun.

They made quick work of Ideyoshi’s minion, a few traps set and a solid slash from a skeletal pirate and it disappeared. Ideyoshi himself was much the same. He fell to poison and vampires and a wraith that they needed a power pip to summon. Ideyoshi fell. His hide seemed to sluff off his bones, pus lubricating the pile of flesh and scraps of skin. A gelatinous pile of defeat. Ryan steps back from the sigil as their enemy built himself back up. The pus bubbled together, chunks of rotted flesh and skin slid back into new, incorrect positions. The Plague Oni arrived. It wasn’t built correctly, and it slumped to the side as if some of its bones were missing. The smell Ryan thought was bad before increased a hundredfold. It was the kind of stench that radiated its own heat. It made the room humid and heavy. The smell clung to Ryan’s skin, their hair and their kimono. They felt as though they were drowning in pus.

Their fingers fumbled at their belt, and they drank the rest of their potion. It was a brief respite from the fight. Cool and light. It reminded them of Valerian, of the necromancers and despite their situation, they smiled. But the heat and the stench came back and they retched, gagging up bile laced with blood. The stink seemed to be coming out of Ryan’s very pores. They sweat beneath the hate and disgust rolling off the Oni.

Ryan summons another circle and before they even start to fight they slice another wild gash into their arm. Ryan nearly passed out again. But every time they felt like fleeing, they cut another slice into one of their arms. More blood meant more pips to cast healing spells. It allowed them to survive this hell of a battle.

Ryan managed to destroy him. Barely.

The heat in the room lingered, even after the demon’s death. Ryan staggered out, leaving the fungus infested temple and into the clear afternoon of Mooshu. When they got back to Shoshun village, everything hurt to look at. It was too green, too lush with life. The stink of death didn’t plague this place. Ryan sweats through the collar of their kimono as they limped down the path. The sleeves of their once silver robe were stained red. Ryan had rolled up the fabric past their elbows, revealing pale forearms littered with still dripping cuts in all directions. There was no order there, no neat rows, only chaotic strikes, equally spread on both arms.

Ryan always kept their sleeves rolled down in Wizard city… Not with the necromancers of course. Ryan trusted the necromancers with their life and their shame, and after showing up unexpectedly back when they were still supposed to be in Marleybone, they had stopped being ashamed. Malorn had explained the best that he could, and Ryan was grateful to have not had to do it themself.

The monks stared at them as they hobbled past, and without a word, they bottled a vial of purest water--water that Ryan purified for them--to give to Tan Keng in order to heal the emperor. Ryan went back to Keng then. Bowed before him, and struggled to stand back up once they bent to one knee. He took the vial from Ryan, examined it, and smiled.

“Thank you young wizard…” Ryan wanted to cry with relief. They did it. They found what was needed to heal the emperor. They could go home. They could return to the tower, safe in the knowledge that the emperor would defeat Malistaire. They could live a normal life back in Wizard City. They could let themself be coddled and comforted. They imagined for a moment what it would be like. A glorious, shining moment.

Then the moment snapped.

“Young wizard,” Tan Keng spoke, “your powers are still needed, for the Death Oni still walks among us, you must go to Yoshihito temple. There you will find-”

Ryan was already walking away. They had heard it all before.

“Purify”

“Defeat”

“Save”

Everyone asked for something, not caring about the toll it took on Ryan. They’d done things that they never wanted to think about again. They had killed , razed, stolen. They were a criminal. A monster. A demon trapped inside the body of a young teen.

Ryan had heard it said that there was no rest for the wicked or the weary… but they weren't sure of which side of the saying they belong on.


	16. Chapter 16

Ryan made it a point to visit home more often than they had before they collapsed. Every time they returned to Wizard City, they saw what effect their precedence--their absence--had on the necromancers. Sometimes they didn’t see Ryan when they came back (the pain of seeing their friends was too much for Ryan on occasion), and when they heard their classmates’ subdued laughter from around a corner, they hid. They watched their friends from the shelter of a corner or a bush as they walked by, shoulders hunched. Once, Malorn had caught their eye, and had smiled sadly, eyes glazed over. Gabe had asked him what was wrong and Malorn had shaken him off, laughing quietly and steering the group away from Ryan. They were grateful for Malorn’s silence. More grateful than they could say.  
But Ryan was trying. And when they felt up to it, they visited. Usually, they stayed just long enough to see them, to talk to them. But in Wizard City, they felt as if headmaster Ambrose was always watching. So they moved quickly, looked over their shoulders, made sure to make it clear that this was just a visit--that they weren’t staying.

But this time, they had planned for a longer visit. A week under the guise that they had been too hurt from fighting the War and Plague Onis to continue to fight. They’d spoken to the headmaster while they were still visibly injured, and he’d given them leave to stay in the commons for a whole week.

They walked up to the classroom door, still in their bloody kimono. The chill of the cave was stronger somehow after all their time away. Maybe it was the thin silk of the kimono, or the sandals, or the fact that they were just used to the heat of Mooshu, but they shivered as they approached the familiar house. The garden was flourishing, and Ryan stopped for a moment to admire the honeysickle. They had time after all. The warm light from the windows flooded the well kept yard, and Ryan could hear the sounds of a lesson from inside. Malorn was speaking, asking for a partner to help demonstrate some concept. Something crashed, and titters of laughter chorused from the building.

Ryan was stalling. Shouldering their backpack, they reached the door, and mentally prepared themself for the barrage of questions that were inevitable. They raised their hand to knock, then hesitated, dropping their hand to the knob instead. The door swung open and Ryan stepped inside. Instantly, all eyes were on them.

“Sorry I’m late guys… what’d I miss?” They said jokingly, ducking their head to avoid making eye contact.

“Ryan!” Cori screamed, dropping her wand where she had been helping with the demonstration and hurdling across the classroom, knocking them into a hug so tight that they were almost knocked off their feet. All of their breath was squeezed out of their lungs, but they managed to chuckle quietly and clutch tightly back at Cori, hands clenched tightly at her side and shoulder. The rest of the necromancers had swarmed around them, and when Cori finally let go, they were passed around the group, hugged by seemingly everyone at once until they found themself standing in front of Malorn.

“Not gonna apologize for interrupting my class?” he said, but he was smiling so broadly that Ryan knew it couldn't have been anything but a joke. Malorn clapped a hand on their shoulder, and Ryan smiled back. They couldn’t stop smiling.

“You know I never did.”

“You never needed to.” There was something fraught with meaning in the words, but Ryan had elected not to decipher it, and to stay in the moment.

“How long can you stay?” asked Marcus, still guarded. Ryan smiled even wider, excited to tell them the news.

“A week.” A cheer went around the group of students.

“Really?”

“Yeah. really.”

* * *

It had been three days and Ryan was anxious. They felt the need to do something, anything productive. They should be out fighting the evil that pervaded Mooshu, not resting in the necromancer classroom and enjoying the company of their friends. Perhaps they could be productive though. Use this time to learn more about their magic. Power pips specifically. They had lounged around the classroom with Malorn and Bones while the rest of the class was at their other lessons, and when the time came for the necromancy lessons, Malorn graciously allowed Ryan to steal a few of their friends to help them.

Valerian, Gabe, and Cori had come with them to the dueling grounds. Valerian for his supply of potions, Cori for her dueling expertise, and Gabe because… well Gabe had tagged along and Ryan was more than happy to have more of their friends near them.  
“Okay… I don’t know exactly how much Malorn has told you, but please don’t freak out” Ryan said, summoning the sigil. Cori was dragged into the circle, but Valerian and Gabe stayed to the side, watching, ready to jump in and help if required to. Ryan rolled up the sleeves of their death student robes, ignoring the gasp the action elicited from Cori and the boys. “Relax, please. I need to do this to summon a power pip.” Ryan unsheathed their athame in a motion now familiar to them, and gashed open the skin near their elbow, wincing with pain, but allowing the blood to drop leisurely to the sigil. The blood absorbed into the battlefield, and Cori’s eyes widened as a bright yellow power pip appeared at their feet.

“What the fuck is that Ry?” Gabe called, one arm braced against Valerian, keeping him back. The potioneer had a flask of freshly brewed healing draught in one hand, already uncorking it.

“That… is a power pip. From what I’ve seen, it gives me twice the power… have to use blood to summon it though, and each pip requires a different cut.” Ryan passed their turn, and motioned for Cori to do the same. She did, and Ryn continued to explain how the pip worked. “From what I can tell, it only works for death spells because I’m a necromancer. Couldn’t make it work for any other type of magic, no matter how hard I try”

“So what do you want to do… besides give Valerian a heart attack.” Ryan laughed at Cori’s words, picking out a death blade from their spell deck, and allowing it to flutter to the floor.

“I want to try harder.”


	17. Chapter 17

Ryan had one day left of their week long break. One day before they would have to return to the wilds of Mooshu and destroy some more evil spirits. It was a weekend, and Ryan would say that the weather was lovely, but the weather in Wizard city was always lovely when you wanted it to be. The necromancers would normally have been in class with Malorn, but their teacher had given everyone the day off, and the group of black clad students roamed the city freely without running into any student from another school of magic. It was quiet for the most part… Ryan had needed the quiet today. They didn’t get a lot of quiet. Everything was always loud around Ryan. Wherever they went, strangers called after them with cries of,

“Young wizard, I was wondering if you could do me a favor!” Enemies taunted them, shouted when they saw them, laughed when they hit them, screamed when they died. When they teleported, they were overwhelmed by the sound of their own magic. It was rarely quiet, and even when it was, they were alone--usually after killing something--and their thoughts were loud enough to prevent any sort of relaxation. But during class, the Commons was quiet--all the students cloistered in their respective classrooms. Their classmates must have picked up on their mood, and had ceased talking, allowing Ryan to lead them aimlessly over the cobblestones.

Ryan lead them over Rainbow Bridge, allowing the white noise of the waterfall to fill their ears. At least this was a noise that they knew would pass. They continued towards Ravenwood--now on their sixth slow lap around the Commons--but as they reached the mouth of the tunnel they stalled, pondering a new choice of location. They looked down the mouth of the tunnel, and twisted up their mouth. No. Not Ravenwood. They continued forward at a snail’s pace, plodding forward. They contemplated making another lap around the Commons, but decided to move up the hill and towards the Fairegrounds.

Verdant hedges marked the entrance to the small square filled with colorful tents and a carousel. Hilda Brewer smiled at them from where she sat perched on the stage, shaded from the perfect weather by a canopy. She waved, but made no move to talk to them which Ryan was grateful for. Ryan waved back, but didn’t stop, instead continuing on to the entrance to Golem Court.

Golem Court wasn’t as sunny as the Commons, and it was far smaller, but it was just as lovely. Springy grass carpeted a circular lawn around the edges of the walls and the tower, small patches of clover speckled occasionally across the ground. Oak trees provided shade around the gated entrance to Dragon Mouth Cave (Ryan had personally sealed this cave after using the brazier within), their spiked leaves carpeting the ground around them.

Ryan looked up at the tower. Plenty of memories had been made in this tower. The start of their journey as a wizard had begun in this tower. They had fought Malistaire in this tower, learned their first spells in this tower. Later they had cleared it out of the constructs that had infested it. Golem Court still remained deserted for the most part though, as it wasn’t particularly interesting. Ryan had heard a rumor that some students had once had an illegal dueling tournament in the tower under the noses of the staff, but nothing had happened in the small, walled off street for ages.

Ryan let out a breath and moved to a spot of sunny lawn. They dropped like a stone, prompting a series of gasps from their classmates that quickly turned into breathy laughter as they saw them shift into a lazy sprawl, closing their eyes and turning the face up to the sun. They heard their classmates settle in around them, and a pair of soft hands cupped their face. They opened their eyes, and momentarily blinded themself from the sunlight.

“Ow…” They whined, and shut their eyes again. They felt the warmth on their face disappear as someone’s head blocked the path of the light. They opened one eye, leaving the other squinted shut. It was Iridium, who had her palms on their face, and who was now offering up her lap as a place for them to rest their head. Ryan nodded, closed their eyes, and leaned back into Iridium, who shifted so Ryan was once again fully in sunlight. The necromancers whispered together quietly followed by bursts of even more hushed laughter. It was pleasant, almost more so than the quiet. They focused harder, bringing the auras of the other necromancers into their mind’s eye. They had nearly perfect three hundred sixty degree vision, and could tell the position of each classmate even with their eyes closed. Cori sat near their feet, Gabe and Val rested next to Ryan. Roslyn and Liam were laying on their stomachs facing them, their laughter audible even over the pleasing hum of their combined auras. Angel, Marcus, Flint and Elijah were standing farther away, bouncing around as they enjoyed some game or another that was entertaining the rest of their classmates. Marcus and Elijah sat with their heads bent near one another, deep in whispered discussion. Sarai and Alexandria’s auras were close, almost on top of one another, they must have been kissing, but Ryan was happy enough to bask in the collective auras of their friends.

They stopped thinking so hard, and allowed their auras to fade into the magical equivalent of Ryan’s peripheral vision. They heard the sound of tearing vegetation, and felt something lightweight scattered over their stomach. They tilted their chin to their chest and squinted open their eyes to see Roslyn and Liam depositing handfuls of ripped up grass along their torso. They laughed softly as Iridium pulled their head back down into her lap, worming her fingers through their overgrown curls (it had been a shamefully long time since they’d had a haircut, and tendrils of hair snaked down their neck and brushed their collar).

They’d be forced to leave in a little over twelve hours, but for now they chose to enjoy the sunlight, and let their friends drops as many handfuls of torn up grass on them as they wanted to.


	18. Chapter 18

Not once, it all the times that Ryan had passed over the river that cut its way through Triton avenue had they thought there would be a secret underwater street. And--as it was with every new location the visited--someone was in desperate need of their help. Sohomer Sunblade had given them a water breathing potion, but Ryan had been doubtful if it would work, and had dropped it off with Valerian to look at while they returned to Mooshu to complete a few remaining favors. The emperor was still in a coma, even after Ryan’s defeat, so all they could do was wait for him to wake up and tell them where Malistaire had gone. Ryan had some hunches of course, but they’d like confirmation before they left Wizard City again.

Ryan flitted from world to world like a restless spirit, doing odd jobs for people in need of assistance. They collected supplies, cleared monsters from streets and tombs, and crafted items for their friends. They were in constant motion, too anxious to stay in any place. They’d bounced from job to job, waiting on Valerian’s analysis of the potion.  
They finally got it in the form of a note left taped to the mostly full flask left beneath a bush that flanked Bartleby’s trunk.

** _Everything looks good, I’m not gonna ask why you’re looking for a water breathing potion. But be careful, the potion’s not gonna last forever. - VAL_ **

They couldn’t put off exploring Crab Alley any longer. So they made the journey to Triton, dragging their feet along the slick pavement of the upper streets. They slipped down the ramp, and turned left at the edge of the bridge, making their way over the wet grass to an opening in the stone brick wall. An anchor hung from a thick wrought-iron chain, tethered to a stake with a piece of badly frayed rope damp from the rain. They edged closer to the cliffside, the carpet of grass extending slightly over the steep rock face. Now that they looked closer they could see that the river that they previously thought was shallow had a deep fissure down the middle leading to a deeper section of the river.

They took a shaky breath, and swallowed the entire flask of potion, tucking the empty glass bottle back into their backpack. The air suddenly became very hard to breathe in. It was like being high up in the mountains, the air too thin for their lungs to get a proper grip on. It filtered in and out of them, but they didn’t seem to be absorbing any oxygen. The potion. They had to jump. They struggled to take a preparatory breath. Felt their head spin. Three steps backwards. Coiled muscles, ready to jump.

They bounded forward, two strides barely making any purchase on the slippery vegetation. They reached the edge. Used their feet to push off the ledge. They flew forward, soared out over the rippling water. Then freefall. Arms wheeling in the air. They accelerated down, faster and faster until they were moving at the same speed as the rain, which, from their perspective seemed to slow gradually to a halt, the distorted drops moving at the same speed they were.

Hitting the water was like hitting concrete. They sunk into the river, body bruised from the fall (they were really regretting not climbing down the anchor chain). They had been holding their breath, a response so psychologically ingrained that they struggled to force themself to open their mouth and breath in lungfuls of water. Their head stopped spinning, and, as they began to float up slightly, the pain in their limbs dulled enough to allow them to begin swimming down. They propelled themself through the cloud of bubbles created by their splash into the river, and forced themself down into the ravine.  
It was like nothing they’d ever seen before. A street built almost exactly like those above in Triton avenue. It must have once been part of the sprawling city, built over an underground river. It must have fallen through, but stayed in one piece. Bits of shell and coral poked out from between cobblestones, and clusters of red kelp grew in the submerged yards of the algae covered houses. Their kimono floated in the water, flaps of fabric drifting around them as the swam back and forth along the sidewalks (It seemed like the sidewalk protection charm still worked down here, even with the water flooding the once dry street), testing out exactly how they were going to move.

They hadn’t known quite what to expect from an underwater fight, hadn’t known exactly how a battle sigil would be able to hold them. They hovered slighting above the circle, but when they tried to push off and swim upward, they were unable to leave the fight. Wand movements were slow, sluggish underwater. And each spell was slow to cast.

There was plenty to do, and, as always, they found themself moving from tower to tower, from sidewalk to palace. They delivered messages between people who couldn’t be bothered to swim over and ask the question themself. The pressure of the water had begun to press down on their chest, and each fight grew progressively more difficult. They found themself fizzling more often than not, and after a particularly disastrous altercation with a River guard, they decided that they had to leave. The dim green-blue light that filtered into the ravine had all but vanished, rendering the once ethereal street almost impossible to see down. The water grew more clear somehow. Darker. It was difficult to breathe.

They began to panic, chest tightening even further as they struggled to swim to the surface. The potion must be running out. The opposite process to what had happened on the surface began to take place, the water they were breathing felt thick and uncomfortable in their lungs. Eventually the water ceased feeling like thick air and began to feel like water. Their vision started to go gray, their head clouded, and they were on the verge of passing out when they finally breached the surface, and began taking in greedy breaths of air. They treaded water for a bit, coughing and spluttering, before they weakly pushed themself to the anchor chain, clinging to the metal for support. Climbing up the chain was an arduous task, made more difficult by the cold air that made their hands cramp and the slick algae that coated the chain links. They slipped a few times and nearly fell back into the water, but after a grueling quarter of an hour, they swung their arms up and onto the turf, fingers digging into the grass to claim some purchase. They hauled themself onto the cliff, and lay there, heaving out wet breaths.

They opened their eyes, and stared up at the dark, overcast sky. It was barely drizzling at the moment, but a few drops managed to fall into their eyes. They didn’t shut them though, instead continuing to stare up at the spirals of grey-blue clouds. They flashed bright with distant lightning. One second. Two seconds. Thunder rolled. Their breaths began to stabilize, and they lifted themself up onto their elbows. The robes that had been flowy and light--if a little dragging--while underwater now hung soaked at their sides, wet silk clinging to their skin. They struggled to their feet and began to walk towards the street.

They stopped as the reached the bridge. They could go up the ramp, back through Olde Town and back to the Commons and Ravenwood. They could go back to Mooshu and wait for the emperor to wake up. Or… they could go over the bridge. Walk to the Haunted Cave. Fall asleep with Bones, with their fellow necromancers a moment away. They turned. Making their decision.

They began to walk over the bridge.

They heard a soft chime from within their backpack. Their scroll. Someone was contacting them. They reluctantly opened their pack, and checked the scroll. A ghost in Olde Town needed attending to. Ryan sighed, and walked up the ramp.


	19. Chapter 19

The fact that there were apparently ghosts living in the abandoned towers of Olde Town had surprised Ryan when they first needed to clear it out. They hadn’t expected to find another creature in the abandoned space. Wind whipped through the thin, still wet silk of their robes as they stared up at the tower. Small windows dotted the cylindrical building, and warm light poured from within. Something was obviously inside the tower, and as they watched, a red glow passed behind one of the window.

Foulgaze had reformed. And he was angry. But he wasn’t particularly hard to defeat--Ryan had done it before and they knew how to use power pips now, so it was easy enough to discorporate the ghost once again. It was sucked back into the ground with a wail, swearing revenge. Ryan sighed, and rolled their sleeves back down, the blood staining the wet white fabric. It bloomed far up the sleeves, carried by the water. Ryan hurried out of the tower, determined to get to the classroom before the sun set. Now that they were out of the water, they could tell more accurately what time is was--still late afternoon or early evening. They had been working for almost a month, never staying in one location for too long. It had been a month since they’d spent that week with their family. A month since that day in the sunshine in Golem court. Three weeks since they’d killed the Jade Oni. Eight days since they’d grown restless and started taking up odd jobs around the spiral. Forty hours since they’d slept.

They still smelled like river water, and they wrinkled their nose as they caught the scent of drying algae on the breeze. What they wanted was a shower. A shower and about twenty four hours of sleep. Did that count as a coma? A coma sounded good to be honest. They wanted to take a shower, fall into a short coma, and spend time with their classmates. Waking up was negotiable to be honest, sleeping forever sounded pretty nice. They might finally feel rested. They sighed, smiling into the wind. They had plenty of time to make it to the classroom.

* * *

They did not make it to the classroom. By the time they had made it over the bridge and up the teleporter in triton avenue, they scroll let out another chiming bell note. This time the message was directing them to Krokotopia--specifically the Grand Arena. Creatures had been congregating there, and Ryan had been summoned to discover and resolve the issue.

They walked back through Triton, through Olde Town, and into Ravenwood, sliding through the hole in Bartleby’s trunk and into the portal room. They opened the door with the Krokotopia key (heavy and golden and made with a simplistic, geometric design of a sun made from interlocking triangles, inlaid with turquoise), and stepped out into a different portal room, halfway across the spiral. They shut the door heavily behind them, making sure to lock it.

From there is was a short walk over the floating islands, and a short boat ride to the Krokosphinx. They walked down the stairs and into the entrance hall. It was chill inside the circular room, frost laced over archways and across the patterned marble floor. They walked through a set of blue double doors and into the hall that lead to the arena. It was even colder there, and they shivered in their wet robes, breathing out clouds of steam. The streets were empty. And Ryan was able to walk down the center of the low ceilinged street without running into anything that summoned a sigil. The arena though, was not quiet. All the creatures that had previously inhabited the streets were clustered in the seats of the colosseum, making an uproar as two kroks fought in the middle of the arena.  
The kroks weren’t fighting with magic--not with a sigil--but were locked in physical combat, each covered with claw marks with identical sabers clutched in their hands. The crowd grew silent as Ryan entered the sand covered arena, and all eyes were drawn to them. One of the kroks took advantage of this moment of surprise, jamming the sbaer up to the hilt in their opponent’s scaled stomach. The body of the fallen krok slipped off the sword, crashing into the freezing sand, and staining the surrounding grains a deep crimson. The victor raised their arms in a cheer, and attempted to show off for the still silent crowd. Unfortunately they were too entranced by the sight of the wizard that had killed so many of them to respond, angering the krok and prompting them to charge at Ryan. The saber flashed, and Ryan only barely managed to duck a decapitating strike, scrabbling backward into the dirt and fumbling their hands together in a sloppy attempt at summoning a sigil.

Somehow, miraculously, it worked, and the Krok got sucked backwards into their own spot, but not before they managed to nick Ryan’s upper arm on their way back. The krok was weak from their last fight, and Ryan was able to finish the battle within four rounds. A wraith had completely finished them off. The crowd roared as the krok fell to the sandy ground--whether from anger or delight Ryan couldn’t tell. They walked out of the arena, not looking back to check. All they needed to do was inform someone what had been happening and they could go home.

* * *

They couldn’t go home. They had made it back to the shopping district before their scroll chimed again. Ryan opened the scroll, and sighed, struggling to read the cursive in the semi darkness (the sun had just set). Ambrose had heard their report on the arena, commended them for their work, and asked them to collect a load of supplies from Knights Court in Marleybone and deliver them to Baldur Goldpaws.

The Marleybone key was different than the Krokotopian one. It was tarnished and ornate, with spirals of blackened iron at the base of it. Silver nicks shone through the dark metal from where it had been used over and over. Ryan stepped through it and into the cathedral. The royal guard at the store saluted them as they passed, pointedly ignoring the bloodstains on their now dry kimono. They moved through the city with ease, navigating the rooftops professionally. A canine stood by Breeman’s warehouse next to a large wooden crate. She waved Ryan over, and they chatted amiably for a few minutes before they gave her a polite--if rushed--goodbye, taking the crate with them.

The box was heavy, and it strained their arms to carry for more than a minute. They set the box down every few minutes to catch their breath, and nearly fell off the edge of a roof one time. Navigating the rickety cross bridges was much more difficult with their vision almost totally blocked by the crate, but they made their way back to the cathedral, and into Wizard City. No one volunteered to help them carry the heavy box.  
Baldur smiled at them, and had thanked them profusely. Ryan’s scroll chimed again. Fuck.

* * *

They collected reagents in the Shirataki temple, and killed the fire elves that lurked in Firecat Alley. Job followed job in quick succession, Ambrose not seeming to notice the time as he sent Ryan out on mission after mission.

By the time they finally got to the classroom, Ryan was shaking with exhaustion. They stopped in the center of the lower floor in an attempt to catch their breath. Their vision swam, eyelids growing heavy, and they slipped into sleep. They were deep into their rest the next time their scroll rang. Ryan was able to ignore it.


	20. Chapter 20

The morning was crisp, and Gabriel was forced to bundle up with a scarf to avoid shivering to death. The weather in the commons, unlike that in most other streets, changed throughout the year, and now that the months were nearing the end of the year whoever was in charge of the weather charm had decided that cold mornings and cold evenings would set the seasonal mood. He pressed cold fingers beneath his arms, and hunched his shoulders up to cover his ears. He was supposed to be meeting Valerian before dawn, head to breakfast, and then immediately go over to the classroom to check up on one of Valerian potions experiments. Malorn had only recently started allowing Valerian to do overnight experiments in the tower, under the condition that the potioneer would stop experimenting unsupervised (the potioneer had come in one morning with severe burns up and down his arms that he hadn’t bothered to heal, and Malorn had banned him from doing late night experiments alone, and confiscated all of his equipment). Gabriel was often the one who spent the late evenings and early mornings in the company of Valerian, content to sit and watch as the other boy chopped and stirred.

But it had been almost forty five minutes, and Valerian hadn’t shown up, and other students who wanted to grab an early breakfast were starting to walk through the Commons. Gabriel huffed a steamy breath into the frosty air, and made his decision, walking through the Ravenwood tunnel and towards the boys dormitories. He trudged up the spiral staircase content with the warmth provided by the enchanted stones… maybe Eliojah knew the spell… he was competent enough at spellwork to complete an enchantment like that. Gabriel knocked on Valerian’s door, softly at first, then louder. He was just about to shout when the door opened, and a bleary eyed Valerian shushed him.

“You’re going to wake up the entire dorm at this rate.” He whispered, adjusting his rumpled robes and running a hand through his slightly greasy hair.

“Well, I’m not the one that was almost an hour late to our meet up!” Gabriel whispered back. Valerian looked guilty and Gabriel immediately wanted to take back his words.

“Come on Val, lets just go to the classroom.”

“O-okay. What about breakfast?”

“We’ll steal something from Bone’s stash, lord knows that cat is overfed anyway.” Valerian chuckled and started to close the door, before cursing under his breath and running back inside to grab his goggles from where they sat on his pillow. Valerian must have slept with them on, and Gabriel could see the imprint of the goggles denting his forehead.

They stepped out into the still chilly morning and began the long walk to the classroom, in relative silence, Valerian being still too tired to talk much. He yawned, shivering closer to Gabe to conserve a little heat. By the time the were in the tunnel to Triton avenue, Valerian was clearly shivering, his robes clutched around him. Gabriel unwound his scarf, and draped it over Valerian’s shoulders, winding it tightly around his neck.

“Gabe!” Valerian protested, trying to unwind the scarf and return it. Gabriel slid backward out of his reach and, laughing, began to run down the tunnel and into the drizzle of Triton avenue. Valerian chased him all the way to the entrance of haunted cave, and only caught up to Gabe because the taller boy had tripped over a clump of wet soil. Valerian helped him up, laughing at the sight of Gabriel sprawled in the dirt.

“You okay?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine.” Valerian hadn’t attempted to return the scarf, and Gabe counted it as a win. They walked together into the cave, noses pink from the chill. Gabriel slung his arm over Valerian’s shoulders, and they laughed and chatted together as they dodged intrepid thorn bushes that reached out into the sidewalk. The door creaked as it swung open, and the two boys stopped.

Ryan was lying in the middle of the floor, head pillowed on their arm, and knees pressed tightly up to their chest to gain warmth in the chilly classroom.

“Ry…” Valerian said softly, reaching forward as if to wake them up. Gabe stopped him with an arm across his torso.

“Let them sleep Val.” He stepped around the sleeping necromancer, and walked over to the cabinets beneath the stairs, grabbing armfuls of soft blankets and pillows to make Ryan more comfortable. Gabriel cautiously placed a pillow next to their head, and rolled them onto their back. Ryan stirred slightly, but didn’t appear to be about to wake up. Valerian helped Gabriel to tuck the blanket around Ryan’s shoulders. The boys piled more blankets on and around Ryan, making a nest around their often absent friend. Valerian brought his cauldron back downstairs and had allowed Gabriel to lay with his head in his lap as he tweaked his potion.

The other necromancers slowly filtered in, and one by one began to settle in around their sleeping friend, doing quiet tasks as they waited for Malorn to show up. He eventually did, a mug of coffee clutched in his hand, and took one look at the tableau before sighing, and sitting down at his desk, resigning himself to another lost day of classes.

* * *

Ryan woke slowly, softly. Warm light and gentle whispers flooded their senses, and they slowly realized that they were trapped beneath a mess of blankets, still lying on the hard floor of the classroom. They cracked their eyes slightly, not willing to give up on the ability to continue sleeping just yet. Their classmates had surrounded them, spread out and enjoying a day off. They could see Malorn at his desk, scratching notes onto a sheet of parchment. Cori and Marcus were quietly armwrestling, silently cheered on by Liam, Angel, and Iridium. Sarai and Roslyn were playing some sort of card game--war maybe--and Roslyn was very clearly losing, Ryan could see that even with their eyes half closed. They rolled over, still pretending to sleep in order to catch a glimpse of the rest of their friends. Elijah was sprawled on his stomach, attempting to sleep. Alexandria was braiding Flynn’s hair, hers already done up in a fishtail. Valerian was brewing some sort of potion, surrounded by chopped up ingredients. Gabe was lying with his head in Valerian’s lap, laughing at some overheard joke as he watched Valerian concentrate.

Ryan closed their eyes again, and fell back asleep.


	21. Chapter 21

The scroll chimed again. That made the fifth time that the scroll had prompted Ryan this morning, and they weren’t awake to answer it. Not that the necromancers would’ve let them leave if they had woken up from the irritating chimes--they were clearly in need of some serious rest. But nevertheless, the scroll continued to ring, growing louder with each time it had been left unanswered.

“Alright,” whispered Marcus, “Someone has to do something about that damn scroll. It’s gonna wake them up, and then they’re gonna leave… again.” His face twisted up as he sulked, and he began to flip through Ryan’s pack, finding the offending scroll, and drawing it out into the open. The ringing--longer this time than any of the previous occasions--grew louder outside of the confines of the backpack, and Cori was quick to snap it up, burying it in the folds of her robes. The sound was muffled, but still audible, and the students waited in tense silence for the bells to stop. The clamor eventually died down, and everyone seemed to hold their breath, waiting for Ryan to wake up. They didn’t, shuffling deeper into their blankets, and the atmosphere in the room once again relaxed into the usual levels of stress. Cori unwrapped the scroll from her robes, holding it at a distance as if it would bite her.

“We’ve got to open it.” Cori argued, her voice rising to a stage whisper.

“We can’t just open Ryan’s mail!” said Alexandria,

“If we don’t it’ll wake them up.” Malorn said. It was final. No one was about to argue with Malorn about what was best for Ryan… well maybe Cori would have but she agreed with him in this case. She undid the ribbon that kept the scroll closed. It practically fell open, revealing a message in an unfamiliar handwriting. The cursive was too smooth to belong to Ambrose, with looping capitals and long spirals.

_ **You have been selected from amongst all the students at your school to attend the two hundred and twelfth annual spiral cup tournament. Your presence is requested at Pigswick academy on the first Saturday of this month. Should you be late, your position in the tournament will be forfeit.** _   
_ ** Yours cordially,** _   
_ ** Headmistress Belladonna Crisp** _

Cori read the message aloud to the group, frowning as she finished. Another quest for the youngest of their family. They’d go. They all knew that Ryan would end up going. They were too much of a goody two shoes to even consider ditching an event that was so important to Ambrose, no matter how much they might have wanted to. But it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Ambrose could have asked them to walk through fire, or kill someone again, and at least in a tournament, the likelihood of Ryan dying was significantly lower than it would have been if they’d been sent back out to defeat Malistaire. It might even provide a welcome change of pace for the overworked necromancer. Maybe Ambrose would even let them watch the tournament… Cori rolled the scroll back up again once more, dropping it to the floor unceremoniously.

“They can stay here for today at least, they don’t have to be in Wysteria until tomorrow morning.” Elijah pointed out. “At least they can rest up.” Ryan certainly needed the rest. The circles beneath their eyes were dark, and a bruised purple in color, and their skin seemed to be becoming almost translucent. They’d been galavanting about for far too long without a break, and they extra sleep was doing them good. They must have come in sometime after Malorn had finished his paperwork at around midnight, and had been sleeping for almost fifteen hours. They showed no signs of waking up just yet, and the death students intended to keep it that way.


	22. Chapter 22

Ryan’s cheek began to slip down their hand as they dozed deep in the stacks of the Pigswick academy library. They had found the lost students on the afternoon that they had arrived, and Hugo Chatterly had been so grateful that he’d given them full leave to explore the stacks in the times between tournament events. Ryan had taken to sleeping there--not on purpose of course! They just tended to fall asleep in between the chilly, poorly lit bookcases. If they went far enough in, there were tables and chairs that they could relax on, but more often than not, Ryan parked themself at the end of a bookshelf and dozed. Today though, they were at a table. Their head slipped lower, weight shifting so that the heel of their palm was caught on their cheek bone. A thick leather bound textbook was on the table, open to a page on spirit magic that detailed the differences between the schools of spirit and death. A piece of parchment half full of notes had begun to curl in on itself next to the tome, a puddle of ink forming where the nib of the pen rested against the paper as Ryan slept.

Ryan breathed deeply as they slept, and the extra shift in weight finally overbalanced them, causing Ryan’s head to drop. They sat up sharply, panicked at the sudden change of position. They exhaled loudly, and scrubbed at their sleep sticky eyes. Ryan’s eyes caught on their half complete sheet of notes and they contemplated finishing them.

Nope. Fuck it.

Ryan slapped the book closed and leaned down over it, resting their forehead against the leather. They sighed, slouching further onto the table. They waited for a moment inhaling the scent of leather, paper, and ink. It was incredibly comfortable in the library, if cold. Perhaps it was comfortable to them _because_ it was cold. Cave-like in a way. Merlin they missed the cave. Pigswick was nice--very nice really; all rough white stones and lush ivy. But it wasn’t home, no matter how nice the library was. Ryan pressed themself up, their forehead sticking slightly to the cover of the book as they sat up fully. They leaned all the way back in their chair, throwing their head back and allowing their shaggy hair to fall back. They ran their hands through the too-long curls. They sat up straight again, and began to roll the sheet of notes up, before shoving it, along with the quill and ink, into their bag. They stood, chair scraping noisily against the floor, and swung the backpack over one of their shoulders. They grabbed the textbook from the table, securing it beneath their free arm and moving away from the table.

The stacks are as difficult to navigate as they were on the first day they arrived (it really was a wonder that more students didn’t get lost in the library). The rows of books seemed to change in proximity to one another at random. Some aisles were wide enough for two to walk down comfortably, and some required Ryan to twist their shoulders and slide through sideways. It was in one of these shelves that the textbook needed to be returned to, and Ryan dropped their backpack before shifting between the shelves, textbook held at shoulder height. Nothing was organized properly--part of the Pigswick method of teaching--and Ryan was forced to look for the gap where the book had once sat. They finally found it on a low shelf, and had to twist themself down in order to replace the tome.

They banged their head on the way back up, and the shelf began to rock from side to side at the nudge.

“Ow…” They whined, rubbing the back of their head with the sleeve of their tournament uniform. The uniform was exactly like those worn by the students of Pigswick, only tailored to match their measurements and school. It was a long teal coat, banded with silver at the wrists and elbows. They had also been given a white shirt, grey waistcoat, and a pair of black shorts. The uniform was stuffy and old fashioned, and the boots they’d been provided were at least a size too small (if they hadn’t been inclined to think the best of people, they’d have assumed it was to inconvenience them in the tournament). The hat was the strangest part of the uniform--floppy and almost comically long--and Ryan refused to wear it when they weren’t required to. It was folded up in the bottom of their backpack, growing more creased with every minute it spent crumpled beneath the rest of Ryan’s things.

They managed to squeeze their way out of the tight shelf space, tumbling out and nearly tripping over their backpack. They moved once more through the library, following the path that they remembered (somewhat) from their arrival. They really should have brought a watch of some sort, as they had no idea exactly how long they’d been sleeping for, let alone how long they’d spent in the library. They got lost a few times, but managed to find their way back by finding parts of the floor where the dust was more disturbed. Eventually, they made it out, waving to Hugo as they left.

The bright sunshine blinded Ryan as they stepped out from the library, and they covered their eyes with their hand. They tapped a student on the shoulder, asking for the time. They’d spent almost four hours studying and sleeping, and had to run in order to make it on time to their first tournament match. They fished through the pouch of their backpack as they ran, and pulled out the crinkled hat, and pulled the offending garment over their still sleep-mussed curls. It streamed behind them and Ryan once again pondered the practicality of the headpiece. They flew into the dorms, and dropped off their backpack on their bed. They grabbed several full bottles of potion from the nightstand, and tried to drop them into their coat pockets. However, it turned out that there weren’t any coat pockets. The uniform appeared to have pockets, but they were sewn shut. They sighed, rolled their eyes, and tucked the vials into their belt. Ryan left the dorm in a rush, not noticing that they had forgotten their school ring on their bedside table. Why would they have? They had a tournament to win.


	23. Chapter 23

Aquila was unlike any other world that Ryan had visited. It was smaller for one thing, and wasn’t accessible through the spiral gate. Ryan wasn’t actually one hundred percent sure that it existed, because every time that they’d ridden the chariot up to the God filled world, they’d passed out on the way up. It must have been something in the mist that they travelled through. In other respects, Aquila was similar to Cyclops Lane. It had the same architecture, the same symbols etched into stones, and the same Cyclopes.

Some of the magic that they saw in Aquila though... was very concerning. Magic such as they’d never heard outside of ancient scrolls or moth eaten volumes of outdated texts. Magic that changed the very way that magic worked. Spells suddenly started becoming more powerful or accurate without a blade or target, effects lasted for multiple rounds, and Ryan’s opponents began to change—to morph—into creatures that they had no business morphing into, giving them what amounted to a second spell deck. Every strategy that they’d carefully cultivated against different magic users suddenly flew out the window, leaving them to fumble around in the dark, casting spells at random and hoping for an effect. Some things remained the same at least, and some gods used familiar forms of magic, but the discrepancies were what stood out.

Everything was a little wrong in Aquila. Ryan’s opponents were too difficult to defeat, with too powerful of magic and a way of referring to them that made them feel utterly insignificant. It probably had to do with their opponents being literal gods, but Ryan decided that, on the whole, one’s godly status didn’t much matter. If you could be defeated--killed even--by a fourteen-year-old necromancer you were doing something wrong.


	24. Chapter 24

Malorn’s class of necromancers lounged across the floor of the classroom as Malorn lectured. They were mostly paying attention, but it wasn’t a particularly interesting lesson. Elijah diligently scratched his quill over a piece of parchment, recording a bulleted list of notes. The notes were, of course, for a different class but it made Malorn feel slightly better. It was a repeated speech, they’d all heard about the power of whispers before, but midterms were coming up and Malorn wanted them prepared, so the lesson had been expanded to include not just whispers, but all the methods of summoning spells.

“Someone tell me how whispers work.” Malorn asked. He shook his head in frustration when no one raised their hand to answer. “Anyone?” He sighed. “Elijah?”

“What? Sorry, I’m taking notes for potions.”

“Merlin… Alright!” Malorn called, “Everybody stand up, And form a circle around the edge of the room. We’re going to do a little exercise. Everybody up. Up up up!” He began swinging his arms, pressing the students up and to the edges of the room. There was a chorus of groans and whining noises at the group did as they were told. The formed a lopsided disc at the center of which Malorn stood, arms spread wide. “Right. We’re talking magical methods today so let's have a practical demonstration.” He began to summon a battle sigil, and the bored students shifted backwards to avoid being pulled into the fight.

Malorn stood at the center of the sun circle, staring accusatively at his students. He pulled out a card--a summoning treasure card that Burke handed out that was specially made for the teachers to use in class demonstrations. The card fluttered to the sigil, disappearing beneath the field of energy. A gobbler materialized in the center of the battlefield, solidifying from the feet up. It turned to glare at Malorn, slobber foaming on its underbite. The necromancer waved him over to the other side of the circle, and the gobbler moved to the circle marked with a dagger.

“All right. Someone tell me what school of magic this particular creature specializes in.”

“Ice.” Angel answered.

“Exactly right” Malorn shouted, “Ice. Now, how are ice spells cast?” There was a brief moment of silence before Marcus grunted,

“Chants.”

“Yes.” Malorn pulled out a firecat spell, and held it up, rotating it slightly to show it off to his students. “Someone tell me why this is an effective spell against a Gobbler.”

“It’s a fire spell.” Cori said, the eyeroll she gave audible in her voice.

“Yes. How am I going to cast this?”

“An incantation?” Liam said, more question than answer. Rather than answer him, Malorn simply began to incant, voice angry and demanding. The firecat popped out from the center of the circle, and swiped its claws at the Gobbler.

“Now!” Called Malorn, “Just why was that so effective!”

“We already told you… it’s a fire spell.”

“I know that. But why are fire spells so effective against ice spells.”

“Malorn. Fire and ice are opposites.” Sarai pointed out.

“Then explain to me why storm is the opposite of myth.” The room was silent as the Gobbler used its natural attack, lunging out at Malorn. “Anyone? Why are storm and myth opposites! Why are ice and fire opposites? Why are life and death opposites. It has to do with the summoning method. I know you guys know this.”

“We don’t!”

“Yes you do! How do chants work?” A Chant is used to bargain with a creature to fight for you. Incantations do the opposite, bending them to your will.” At this point Elijah seemed to catch on, growing excited.

“So, thats thats why life and death are opposites. Life spells are summoned using songs, which create the creatures from nothing. But death spells use whispers which transform preexisting fears into something with a physical form.”

“Yes! Elijah brilliant job!” Malorn summoned a death blade with a whisper, barely managing to avoid the repercussions of an attack as the Gobbler fizzled.

“And myth spells use naming to bind unwilling creatures to your service… So then--” But Elijah was cut off by an excited Valerian.

“And storm spells use verses to hypnotize creatures, making them willing minions.” Malorn began a longer string of whispers, and a ghoul formed from the center of the sigil. It finished off the Gobbler, and the sigil disappeared.

“So then… why is balance magic equally effective against all forms of magic?” Malorn wiped his brow, and propped his hands on his hips, expectant.

“Because balance uses transmutation… it includes all different forms of summoning, so it has no opposite.” Iridium answered, eyes bright.

“Exactly.” Malorn moved back to the chalkboard, leaving his students standing in the same circle. “So now:” Malorn picked up a piece of chalk, drawing a large inverted triangle. Then a smaller, upright triangle set inside of it. He drew seven circles, one at each point of each triangle, and one in the center of the diagram. The chalk squeaked slightly on the final circle, but Malorn didn’t flinch, beginning to draw the symbols for each type of magic in their respective circles. “Why are the summoning methods what they are. Start with ice.” He wrote CHANTS, in capital letters next to the symbol for ice magic, underlining it twice, before dropping the chalk back into the wall mounted basket where it belonged. They worked their way through INCANTATIONS, VERSES, NAMES, SONGS, WHISPERS, and TRANSMUTATION, going through the properties of each and discussing the logical combinations between each. Elemental magic methods combined to form spirit summoning methods.

Ice and fire made myth. Chants and incantations made names, the pleading and dominating cancelling each other out in the impartial act of naming.

Fire and storm made life. Incantations and verses made songs, the words of the poetry being set to the rhythm of the incantation in song.

Storm and ice made death. Verses and chants made whispers, the soul searching qualities of poetry combining with the desperation of the chants into a whisper that truly conveyed the wizards fears.

“You see!” Malorn explained, “Although this is magic, there is a method in it. An order. Logic. It makes sense!” The board was covered with Malorn’s chicken scratch handwriting, capital letters running into one another, arrows pointing across the diagram. He dusted off his hands, replacing the worn down nub of chalk. “It takes a little bit of thinking but it makes sense.”


	25. Chapter 25

Grizzleheim was the kind of cold that Ryan enjoyed. It wasn’t snowy and false like in Colossus Boulevard, or damp like in the deep tombs of Krokotopia. It was a refreshing cold. It brought a pink flush to their cheeks, and froze their ears. But the new fur lined outfit they’d bought from a vendor helped to combat the cold. The outfit was made of bunched black fabric, with a brown fur half cape and tall, highly polished boots lined with silver clasps. A wide, fur lined hood was draped over their head, soft cotton straps wrapped around the bottom half of their face and neck.

Nothing was really happening in Grizzleheim. Malistaire wasn’t rampaging through, there were no ancient family feuds, and, though there were creatures that roamed to open fields and sprawlings pathways, the citizens had constructed a fort that was secure enough to keep intruders at bay. It was a welcome change from the almost siege-like atmosphere of Mooshu, or the labyrinths of Krokotopia, or the crime riddled rooftops and alleys of Marleybone. Ryan was enjoying their free afternoon, and had decided to spend if wandering the meadow paths of Grizzleheim. The sunlight peeking through the wispy clouds did little to warm the landscape, and the morning dew had still not evaporated from the grass. The world was cast in silver, and the air was still. No hint of a breeze ruffled their clothing or their hair as they strolled along the springing grass bordering the wide paths. Small patches of clover bloomed, and as they walked, Ryan bent down to pick a cluster of small white flowers. They moved them from hand to hand, as they continued walking, bruising the delicate petals between their cold fingers.

They came to a spot where the trees were spread thinner, and the silver sunlight warmed their cheeks just enough for Ryan to pull the cotton from their face. They squinted upward into the bright shafts of light that filtered through the sparse glave of trees. It really was a lovely afternoon. The real weather in Grizzleheim felt different than the magical weather in Wizard City, lighter somehow. Ryan never realized just how heavy the different weather patterns in Wizard City felt until they began to experience natural weather in other places. It was a marked difference, and Ryan breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the pines.  
They leaned up against the trunk of a particularly wide evergreen, and pulled their hood back from their head. They dropped their head back against the trunk, closing their eyes against the blinding light. They stood in the sun for a moment, and enjoyed the crisp afternoon. They lifted the handful of clover that they’d gathered, and began to poke holes in the stems of the battered flowers, threading them together to form a chain. It wasn’t very strong though and began to break apart in their hands even as they constructed it, the crushed stems tore into pieces. Eventually they gave up on the project, and allowed the darkened blossoms to fall to the ground. Reluctant to give up on creating a proper flower crown, Ryan began to look around for stronger flowers.

Grendleweed would make a nice base. Nice thick stems and clusters of small dark green blossoms. They got a bit carried away, and made the chain too long for a crown, but decided that a necklace would work just as well. They finished the chain, and decided that for the first necklace they’d leave it as just Grendleweed. They made a number of chains of different lengths, forming necklaces, belts, crowns, and bracelets. They picked up brightly colored mandrake leaves and sprigs of pine, adding them to their various loops of foliage. They bounded around, collecting flowers that they stuck into their curls, and leaves that they filled their sleeves and collar with. They cut off cattails, sticking them into the sash around their waist, using the stalks as imaginary swords.

They felt like some sort of wood sprite as they pranced around the glen clad in flowers and leaves. Eventually, when the sun dipped low in the sky, they made their way back over the rainbow bridge (unlike the Rainbow Bridge in Wizard City this one was actually fashioned from light), and used their Wizard City key in the spiral gate to return home. Their keyring was quite heavy these days, Krokotopia’s golden geometric key, Wizard City’s simple brass key and Marleybone’s tarnished silver key hung alongside the brushed silver key from Mooshu and the vine carved bronze key from Wysteria. It now boasted a roughly hewn wooden key wrapped in the same cloth that Ryan currently had on their face.

They received strange looks as they strolled through the Commons, but no more than usual. The walk to the classroom was quick with the brimming excitement of showing off their new outfit.  
They arrived to find the classroom full, lessons having just ended. The chalkboard was covered with an angrily drawn diagram of magic summoning types, and Malorn’s sleeves were covered with chalk dust. The chatter in the classroom stopped as they entered.

“Guys! I’ve just come from Grizzleheim. Like my outfit?” They smiled self consciously, spreading their arms wide and giving a quick twirl.  
“It’s lovely Ry!” Alexandria called, running to them and grasping their hands. They spun round and round, leaves and flower petals detaching themselves due to the force. Ryan broke out into peals of laughter, and when they finally broke their grip, they were flung across the room. They fell to the ground, slightly dizzy, and threw back their head laughing. The necromancers gathered around them, picking up the flowers that had fallen to the floor and returning them to Ryan’s nest of recently cut curls.

“So… what were you guys just learning about?” Ryan asked once the pleasantries had finished, “Looks like summoning methods. Did you know that you can actually use a number of different methods? That’s how you get spells like fire snake or ice elves… It’s not really a different spell just a different method of--”

A soft bell chimed. The scroll. Ryan’s face fell, and they reached into their backpack, hands shaking as they pulled out the scroll. They fumbled with the ribbon, barely able to untie the knot. They bit down on their lip as they read the message, eyes growing teary before they even finished. They rolled the parchment up, and shoved it back into their bag roughly. They then started to rip the flower chains off of them, allowing everything to fall into piles of shredded vegetation on the floor. The pulled the cattails from their belt, dropping them to the hardwood floor with a thud.

“Guess… guess I won’t be needing these any more…” They wiped their glassy eyes, and smiled weakly, “Malistaire… he’s in Dragonspyre and I’ve got to…” They sniffled refusing to make eye contact with any of the necromancers, “I’ve got to go.” Ryan shot through the pack of students. Cori caught their sleeve just before they left, and Ryan spun around, not bothering to wipe at the tears now spilling over their cheeks.

“Ryan--”

“Please… Cori just let me go.” She dropped their sleeve as if burned, and Ryan slipped from the room, slamming the door behind them.


	26. Chapter 26

The slamming of the classroom door echoed around the small space, leaving the remaining necromancers tense. No one spoke as Cori ripped open the door, desperate to find Ryan still standing outside the door. They had of course teleported away, the garden was empty, and a slow wind whistled through the cave, making it seem even emptier than usual. She stepped back inside, and softly closed the door behind her, facing away from the rest of the class. She leaned one arm heavily against the door frame, and dropped her head between her shoulder blades. Her shoulders began to heave as Malorn padded across the floor to her. He placed a timid hand lightly on her shoulder and she whirled around to face him, watery eyes bright with fury.

“Don’t try to tell me it’s okay! Ryan is gone.” She sobbed, tears beginning to flood from her eyes, “Ryan is gone and you let them go.” No one was brave enough to respond. “You all let them leave again! And now they’re going to go off to fucking Dragonspyre and get themself killed!” She cried. Malorn reached out to place a comforting hand once again on her shoulder. She dropped her gaze as he bagen to rub circles into her shoulder. “Ryan is going to… they’re gonna end up--” She cut herself off with a sob, trying to push past Malorn. He caught her by the waist, and she turned toward with, face puffy from crying. Malorn pulled her to him, and she buried her face in his shoulder. Cori’s knees gave out as she sobbed, and her added weight began to drag the pair to the floor. Malorn struggled to keep the descent smooth, but he was roughly taken to the floor anyway, his knees connecting with a painful thud. Cori clutched at his robes, fingers digging tightly into his sides. He shushed her, and stroked her hair, carefully undoing the ponytail she always kept it in. “Malorn… Malorn they’re going to--”

“Nothing is going to happen to them.”

“Ryan’s going to die.”

“No they’re not.”

“They’re going to die alone and--”

“Cori.”

“Ryan--”

“Cori!” She trailed off once again into sobs, rocking back and forth in Malorn’s arms. The rest of the students stood apart from the pair as Malorn attempted to console her. Cautiously, Gabriel approached the pair, and attempted to pull them up, but Malorn stopped him with a steely look, mouthing, ‘go away’ at him. Gabriel looked like he was about to protest, but Marcus dragged him back, shaking his head. The rest of the students made their way upstairs, and formed a circle. Gabriel was shaking with anger, shoulders hunched and jaw set.

“We can’t just sit here.” He whispered, “Cori’s right.”

“It’s not like we can do anything to help” whispered Angel

“Well maybe you can live with yourself while Ryan is out there getting killed, but I can’t stand what it’s doing to Cori so--”

“Hey” spat Valerian, shoving Gabriel’s shoulder so that he had to face him, “Don’t take it out on them”

“I--”

“We’re all angry Gabe. You don’t get to yell at us just because you feel bad that you didn’t do anything to stop Ryan from leaving” He stepped away from him. Gabriel leaned into Valerian’s hand, following it even after the hand was gone. Valerian crossed his arms, and refused to make eye contact.

“Val… I’m sorry--”

“Save it Gabriel.” The use of Gabriel’s full name coming from Valerian made him flinch. The group stood in stony silence for a moment, Malorn’s shushing and Cori’s repeated cries of

“They’re gone… they’re gone…” reached them from the first floor.

“Gabriel may be acting like a dick but he’s right… We can’t leave Cori like this, and we certainly can’t let Ryan die.” Marcus whispered, “So what are we gonna do about it?”

“We could follow them?” Liam said

“No that won’t work… said Sarai, “Ambrose would never allow it, and besides. None of us are strong enough to survive for one minute outside of Wizard City.”

“So what are we supposed to do then... wait? They might never come back.” Flynn whispered.

“What else can we do…” admitted Marcus. Cori’s sobs had begun to quiet down, and Malorn had ceased shushing her and was quietly murmuring something that they couldn’t hear between Cori’s hitched breaths.

“One thing is for sure though.” Valerian said, not looking up at the rest of his classmates, “We’re not letting them leave again.”

“How are we going to stop them though… they can teleport.” Iridium argued.

“It’s not Ryan that we need to stop from leaving. Everyone knows that if they could stay with us, they would. We need to talk to Ambrose. He can’t keep sending a kid out to do his dirty work for him.”

“He’s not just going to let them stop fighting.” said Gabriel. “Even if Ryan manages to kill Malistaire, there’s always going to be someone who comes to Ambrose for help, and Ambrose is always going to send Ryan in his stead.”

“So we go to Ambrose then.” Marcus said.

“Are you insane?” asked Alexandria, “He’d never listen to us.”

“Then I suppose… we’ll have to make him listen.” Valerian’s words struck a chord with his classmates, and they pondered what exactly it would mean to go against Ambrose. To stand up to their headmaster. Ryan never had, but Ryan was young, eager to please, and--as much as they claimed otherwise--easily manipulated. Ryan had never wanted to disappoint their headmaster, so they had never gone against him. They stood in contemplation, the silence cut through only by Cori’s sniffles and sharp breaths. They shifted closer to one another--even Valerian and Gabriel who had been at one anothers’ throats not two minutes before--grasping at each others’ arms as they listened to their friend cry over their lost sibling. One thing was for certain. Ryan would not be taken away from their family. Not ever again.

The necromancers wouldn’t allow it.


	27. Chapter 27

Somehow, Ryan had expected Dragonspyre to be cold. All the illustrations of it in the scrolls in Krokotopia’s library were colored in various shades of dark blue and indigo, with a foggy haze. Dragonspyre wasn’t cold though. It was hot. The kind of dry heat that gave Ryan a static shock whenever they touched metal or fur. The clothing in Dragonspyre didn’t help of course, where most worlds with warm climates had clothing that helped combat the heat (linen wraps in Krokotopia, silk kimonos in Mooshu, and loose cotton togas in Aquila) Dragonspyre’s fashion seemed to defy the expectations. Dragonspyre was a military world, with a military academy, and strict uniforms and dress codes. Ryan had picked up clothing that was made of heavy black cotton and lined with leather at the collar, waist, and sleeves. Above all of the heavy buckled clothing, was plate armor. It gleamed a bright silver, etched with serpents and skulls. They had a skirt made from panels of decorative fabric, piped with silver thread. The boots were steel toed, with soles that added several inches to Ryan’s meager height. The whole outfit was capped with a full helmet and face guard, with a plume of black forming the crest. The face guard had been engraved specifically to look like a skull, with circular eye openings and a toothy grin over the mouth guard. Ryan had picked out an outfit that they thought would keep them cool, at least compared to some of the other outfits (seriously… a fur lined hat in this landscape?). It wasn’t much help though, and every time their bare skin came in contact with part of their armor, they received a painful shock that left them shaking their hand in pain for minutes on end.

The heat wasn’t the only hazard of Dragonspyre though. That came in the form of the heavy clouds that hung over everything in a gloomy chiaroscuro. They were toned a tawny orange, colored that way by the reflection of the lava that bubbled through channels that had once contained water. The clouds were acrid with smoke, and breathing was made difficult by the bitter air. The smoke didn’t burn so much as it seemed to corrode, the top of their palatte scrubbed raw by the constant grating of the particle thick air. They felt as if their gums were bleeding with the effort of inhalation, and strove to keep their sleeve over their mouth as much as possible given their helmet. They quickly found that it was impossible to keep up, and not even a day had passed before they ceased trying altogether, resigning themself to breathing in soot.

Ryan was always dehydrated, and everytime they stood too fast they felt a heady rush of blood to their head, and Ryan had to brace themself against the nearest upright surface in order to remain standing. Even turning too quickly was liable to send them flailing to the floor, forcing them to move with a stately grace and that belied the constant worry and confusion that they lived with.

On the outside, Ryan appeared to be the definition of a hero: cool under pressure, always able to lend a hand, and willing to do the dirty work no one else wanted to complete. Ryan was made to collect crystals and defeat ghosts. They had to tussle with spiders and fix bridges. They always had a smile on their face--however strained--when accepting requests, no matter how ludicrous. Ryan needed to fight their way up four different towers to open a portal? Whatever… just point them in the right direction and, even when they are inevitably and obviously betrayed, they’d make it to the next ring. They weren’t allowed to progress until they had defeated all of the academy’s most illustrious dead teachers? No problem, just tell them the location of the ghost instructors and they’d pass their lessons with flying colors. They needed a vault key from a guy that was long dead? Why the fuck not… just send them back in time, and they’d fix everything (and try not to think to hard about the possible repercussions to the space time continuum). They accepted every request made of them, and denied the ghostly citizens of Dragonspyre nothing.

Ryan took breaks from their endless stream of quests in the ruins of Dragonspyre academy. They were supposed to be flying up to the Labyrinth--the site of Malistair’s lair--but they weren’t mentally prepared for it yet. Despite their seemingly calm demeanor, Ryan was a mess. They were quite possibly the biggest mess that they’d ever been. Dragonspyre had taken up all of their time. They hadn’t been back to Wizard City in almost a month. They’d been sleeping in the dilapidated library, and living off of the wild growing mandrakes that they’d charred in the streams of lava. They’d only survived their fights because they’d begun to make their own bootleg health potions. They didn’t help as much as Valerian’s did, and they were a bitch to make, but Ryan was still alive, despite what seemed to be Dragonspyre’s best efforts to kill them.

On this particular break from their work, Ryan was lounging on the heat baked rubble of the life classroom. They’d just come from the necropolis, come from a tomb, and they felt the stink of death clinging to their robes and hair. They’re stomach churned as they tried to repress what they had just done. They’d banished Sylvia Drake’s ghost. Destroyed her. She had screamed as Ryan destroyed her. Cried. Something far too human for comfort. She’d even called out to them when they’d first arrived,

“Malistaire? Is that you? Have you come for me?” She had sobbed, and reached out for a comfort that Ryan had been unable to provide her, “It’s so cold here… so dark and I’m so alone.” She’d thought them to be benevolent. Benevolent. If they hadn’t been so ashamed they would have laughed. Ryan hadn’t been benevolent. They’d been murderous.

Ryan had destroyed creatures before, banished ghosts and discorporated all manners of combatants. But none of them had been so clearly once human. Thinking back on it, they supposed that Lord Nightshade must once have been a necromancer, and Lady Blackhope must have been living at some point, but they had both been dead for far longer than Sylvia Drake had and they’d ceased being truly human. Ryan grimaced and leaned back on the large slab of stone. They’d removed their helmet long ago, and they allowed the warm stone to burn the back of their neck as a reminder of what they’d just done. They sighed, breathing out a lungful of burning air. They’d killed Sylvia Drake. No matter that she was already dead. She was human. She wouldn’t come back. She would reconstitute herself. Ryan had sent her to the beyond.

They felt sick.

They were queasy from what they’d done, exhausted from their battles in the catacombs, sore from climbing through rubble and from avoiding lava. They were bleeding from a dozen fresh cuts, and they had begun to leave a stain behind on the stone brick slab. Their face was sunburnt, even with no sun, and the raw red skin had begun to flake across their cheeks and nose. Blisters had begun to form where the hot metal of their mask pressed against their temples. They reached up with one hand--nails bitten to the quick--and began to pick at one of the painful pustules, scratching at it until they felt it burst, leaving behind a raw circle of exposed flesh wet with blood and pus. They dropped their hand back over the edge of the rubble, and closed their eyes. The rock at their neck was beginning to burn, but they didn’t move, relishing in the dull haze the pain provided them. They didn’t want to think at the moment. They didn’t want to do much of anything except to go home--or at least go back to the library--but they couldn’t. They were needed. They were always fucking needed. This time, they were needed to train a drake in order to fly up through the tunnels to Malistaire’s lair. They inhaled the sour air again, tearing at their abraded throat. They couldn’t stay here bleeding forever.

Without sitting upright, they pulled a vial of their homemade health potion from their belt, uncorked it, and lifted it to their chapped lips. They drank it quickly, swallowing the bottle in one gulp. They choked on the vile tasting concoction (somewhere between seawater and rotting fruit), and coughed up a mouthful as they sat up, spitting the offending liquid onto the stone, where it immediately began to dry. They leaned down, elbows braced on their knees, and spluttered between their legs. They spat, tasting bile, and gripped their hair roughly in their hands, waiting for the poorly made potion to take effect.

It did... eventually, and spread a tingle across their injured arms and scalded face, knitting their raw or wounded skin back together. When the prickling stopped, they heaved themself off the block, and crumpled into a crouch on the mostly level ground of the academy square. They cracked their knuckles, and pressed their arms forward, locking their elbows in a stretch that opened up their still aching back. They looked back at the stone, bloodstain still present, but turning black as it dried, and shook their head. There was nothing that could be done for them right now, they couldn’t rest, couldn’t return home, couldn’t even stop fighting for long enough to feel sorry for themselves. They’d already tarried too long with the excuse of healing themself. So they left the ruined academy, and started off on the next leg of their journey.


	28. Chapter 28

“No… I’m afraid I simply cannot allow it.”

“But Headmaster Ambrose, sir I just--”

“You have wasted far too much time away from your mission. We are saving the spiral young wizard, we do not have time for you to waste on your friends.”

“But it’s not wasted! Please I just need a little time to--”

“No. That is final. You are a hero of the realm, not some child. I am forbidding you from staying in Wizard City until you have dealt with Malistaire.” Ryan nodded sharply, biting their lip to prevent them from shouting something profane at their headmaster. They spun on their heel, and stalked towards the door. “Oh. And young wizard.” Ryan bristled, “Do hurry.” Ryan screwed up their face and slammed the door to the office. They moved through the bright artificial sunlight, shoulders hunched and arms crossed. Their meeting with the headmaster had been intentionally during elective classes, as Ambrose knew that if given the chance Ryan would surely crash the necromancy lessons. Ryan stomped down the stairs, through the small manicured garden that surrounded the headmaster’s office, and onto the curving cobbled path that lined the Commons.

It wasn’t fair. They were fully aware that they sounded like a petulant child when they thought that but it really wasn’t fair. They just wanted to see their family one last time before they left to go kill a man. Kill him. It had been made perfectly clear to Ryan that Malistaire was not going to surrender like many of their other combatants had. Ryan was going to have to kill him in order to save the spiral. That didn’t sit right with them, filling them with the same nausea that had overwhelmed them during their battle with Malistaire’s deceased wife. They wanted to be comforted, hugged. They wanted to bask once again in the combined chaos of their classmates’ auras. They probably wouldn’t get another chance to.  
Ryan wasn’t expecting to survive.

The desserted Commons that had once been so comforting to them was now oppressive in its silence. They moved towards Ravenwood, their armor clanking noisily, and, when they reached the entrance to the tunnel, they sat down roughly, knocking the wind out of themself and dropping their head in their hands. The visor of their helmet was up, and they were able to breathe deeply in the clear air. They began to rock slightly, rubbing the corners of their eyes with their palm heels. They’d have to leave. If they left now they could fight Malistaire, and if they fought Malistaire they would save the spiral, and if they saved the spiral…

If they saved the spiral then maybe they could come home. Come back to school and spend time with the necromancers. They stood once they had calmed their breathing, and turned towards the Ravenwood tunnel. It seemed darker somehow, and they hesitated as they walked towards it.

No.

They needed to see their friends, let at least one of them know what they were going to do. They stepped backwards, away from the tunnel, and with each step, they found it easier to move. They began to run away from the arch, and after only a few seconds they were sprinting out into the Commons, each step an act of defiance against their headmaster. They could go to Malorn in the haunted cave, but he was too far away, it would take too long, and Ambrose would hear from Professor Drake if Ryan hadn’t shown up soon after their conversation. Who could they find. The Pet Pavilion was always over crowded, they had been banned from the gardening class in Golem Court as everytime they showed up the plants began to wilt (the only plants that didn’t droop in their presence were the hardy varieties that grew deep in caves), Monstrology lessons were in Ravenwood, Potions were all the way in the center of the hedge maze in Unicorn Way--

That was it. Unicorn Way. Dueling.

Cori.

Ryan dashed to the warmly lit street, and ducked behind a market stall. They slunk along to vine covered walls, keeping to the shadows. Diego was inside teaching, and Ryan was able to find a niche by the door that kept them almost entirely out of sight, but allowed them clear sight of the entrance to the arena.

They waited, biting their nails, for class to be over. By the time that the dueling students began to exit the classroom, Ryan had ripped up several hangnails, and drops of blood lined their cuticles. They pressed themself deeper into their hiding spot as laughing groups of pyromancers and diviners stepped out into the sunlight, stretching after long hours of practice. They breathed in sharply when they recognized two of their friends exiting. Marcus and Cori walked shoulder to shoulder, maintaining contact between them. Instantly filled with regret, Ryan struggled to stay silent.

“Damn.” Cori called, “Forgot my backpack.” She broke from Marcus, moving back towards the dueling arena. “Go up ahead… I kinda want to be alone anyway.” Marcus gave her an appraising look before hunching his shoulders and following the rest of the class out of Unicorn Way. Cori disappeared inside the arena, and reappeared a minute later, leather backpack slung over her shoulder. Ryan’s breath caught when they saw it. There were charms hung along the drawstring--things that Ryan had brought back for her from their adventures. There was a small beaded snake that they’d bought in krokotopia, a wooden replica of a dog statue from the Marleybone museum gift shop, a piece of carved red bamboo from Mooshu, the handkerchief Ryan had won from one of their tournament opponents in Wysteria. There was one thing that they didn’t immediately recognize though: a pressed flower that had been riveted between two panes of glass. It was grendelweed. It must have been one of the flowers that Ryan had brought back from Grizzleheim just before being summoned to Dragonspyre.

Ryan stepped out from the crevice, and made their way over to Cori in two long strides. They clamped one hand on her shoulder and pulled her to face them.

“Ryan?” She said loudly, startled by their sudden appearance. Ryan shushed her sharply, and pulled her with them back into the dueling grounds. Diego looked up as the pair entered, and Ryan sent him a look of entreaty. The horse nodded sharply, and looked away, pretending not to have seen them. “Ryan… what are you--”

“I don’t have long Cori. I just… I wanted to see you.” Their voice cracked, and they let go of Cori’s sleeve.

“You…? Oh Ry.” She pulled them into a rib crushing hug, and when they broke apart, she cradled their face in her hands. Looking at her closely, Ryan felt a rush of guilt at the grief they had caused her. She was paler than the last time they’d seen her, with circles beneath her eyes that rivaled Ryan’s. Her lips were trembling as her eyes darted across her face, seeming to drink up every detail of their face.

“I--” They tore themself away from her “I have to go Cori.”

“No! Ryan please just--” She inhaled deeply “Ryan. Please stay for just a second, I want to talk to you.”

“Cori I can’t.”

“Why not.”

“I’m not allowed to.”

“Says who.”

“Headmaster Ambrose.” She didn’t respond, but her eyes began to grow fierce. “I’m not allowed to be here. I’m not allowed back until I kill Malistaire and--”

“Kill? Fuck Ryan, he’s making you kill him!”

“Cori I need to go. He’ll know if I spend too much time here. Professor Drake is waiting for me in the Basilica.”

“Ryan please just…” She seemed to want to plead with them, beg them to stay with her. But she stopped herself. “Please just come home.” Ryan smiled sadly.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be able to.”

“If you don’t come home I’ll come after you.”

“I know you will.” Ryan shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, and pulled her into another hug.

“I… I’ve kept this the whole time I’ve been gone.” They pulled away, and began to fish around in the depths of their bag “I… I thought you might want it back before I--” They stopped talking, not wanting to cause Cori any more grief then they already had. “Well… I thought you might want it.” They removed a battered, and folded piece of cloth, handing it to the shocked girl with a reverence that belied its value. Ryan stepped back, and waved forlornly, before concentrating deeply and teleporting away.

Cori was left alone in the empty arena, tears dropping to the faded and worn dueling hood that she clutched tightly to her chest.


	29. Chapter 29

There must have been a way up the Great Spyre that didn’t require Ryan to risk life and limb, clutching the back of a drake. Unfortunately, they were stuck on the back of their--admittedly adorable--drake as the reptile swooped and dove, claws skimming the lava. Ryan would much rather have been traveling by car or broomstick, but they had to admit that there was a certain charm to riding a drake. But that charm did very little to cancel out the absolute terror that flooded their veins every time that the drake flew too close to the lava. The tunnel itself was too small to fit the young drake, and its wingtips scraped against the brickwork in the places where the walls stretched inward. It must have once been filled with water, perhaps used as a boat network, but now the lava warmed the air to unbearable levels, and Ryan sweat buckets down their forehead beneath their blistering armor.

The drake came out of the tunnel and landed on a little overcropping, depositing Ryan rather unceremoniously on the swirl patterned bricks. The balcony opened onto a large circular room lined with guards and strange lanterns that seemed to fairly pulsate with energy. Ryan pushed open the large double doors, and found themself battered by a strong hot wind. The inside of the Great Spyre was stuffy and dark, lit only by the lava that bubble far below. A checkered floor spiraled up the edge of the cavern, broken at the edges. A length of chain spanned the pit, seemingly the only way to the other side.  
Ryan gulped, and took a tentative step onto the chain, jumping back as it rattled beneath their weight. They were never a big fan of heights, but the fear was exacerbated by the circumstances. They shifted their weight lower, and scampered across the links, feeling the heat radiate up from the metal even through the thick soles of their boots. They didn’t breathe until they were back on solid ground. Well… solid-ish. Everything was built out over something.

They traveled across great arching bridges and broken bits of path. They only stumbled once, their foot catching on a rock. They sprawled heavily across the stones, helmet slamming into the ground with a resonating clang. Pressing up onto their hands and knees was bone achingly difficult, and they felt their palms burn against the hot stones. They rested for a moment, head hung between their shoulder blades, and cursed themself for ever having gotten caught in this situation in the first place. Why did they have to be the one to save the spiral. Why was their concious charged with killing a man to stop him from killing others. They shivered despite the heat, and clambered to their feet, beginning the climb up yet another ramp. They tried not to look too far over the edge lest they lose their balance and go tumbling headlong to their death.  
They found themself forced into all sorts of fights that they didn’t want to fight, with creatures that had seemingly formed from the depths of the lava itself. Frightful fire elementals that filled suits of burnt armor. Lavalings that roosted on stalagmites that popped out of the boiling rock. Fire golems that were quite literally made from cooling lava, still barely solidified. The hard outer shell of the golems’ feet began to crack as they fought, and streams of still warm magma began to leak out, simmering to a cool on the platforms it fought on. Ryan had to jump to avoid the bubbling messes left behind after their fights.

After a while Ryan had grown numb to the fear that came with walking over bridges that spanned gaps of lava. And the walk to the center of the Spyre was almost easy. The heat almost gave them more traction somehow, and by the time they reached the platform in the center, they were comfortable enough to increase their speed to a run. They skidded to a halt on the decorative piece of flooring, unsure of where to go next. It was then that the chains suspending the platform began to move, pulling them upward. Ryan yelped, and crouched down at the center of the elevator. Four crystals began to glow, and suddenly a barrier of red light acted as a fence around the edge. It stopped as it reached a bridge near the top, and Ryan dismounted, stumbling onto the bricks. The air was slightly cooler up here now that they were farther from the lava, and Ryan was able to breathe deeply for the first time in ages.

They could see a two nearly identical creatures, differentiated only by their colors. They were both elephants, or at least they both appeared to be elephants, each with a different magic type. But Ryan was exhausted, to magically drained to even think of fighting both of them, so they carefully scanned the outer edges of the cavern, looking for any possible way to avoid a fight. They could see the scaffolding that connected the platforms to the arches in the mountain walls. How were they supposed to get there without fighting something. They waited until the pacing monsters were farthest away from them before moving very carefully to the edge of the platform, and skirting their way around the edge to get to the bridge on the other side. Their foot slipped at one point, and sent crumbled bits of stone tumbling down into the depths.

Activating the crystal wasn’t difficult, it was all a matter of timing, and sticking to the edges of the pathways. The green glow of the crystal stood out in the red and orange hellscape that Ryan had gotten used to, and the light blinded them momentarily, causing them to throw up their arms to avoid the glare.

As they trudged back to the set of double doors, they fumbled at their belt for a vial of potion, before uncorking it and downing it like a shot. Their attempt to avoid tasting the vile elixir was unsuccessful, and they choked on the noxious liquid, spitting half of it back out onto the floor. They wiped their mouth with the sleeve of their robes, and steadied themself in front of the doors.

This was it.


	30. Chapter 30

Ryan couldn’t stop shaking. They’d… oh Merlin they’d…

They’d killed him. Ryan had had killed Malistaire. They stepped through those sets of double doors, and destroyed the ghosts that were protecting him during the ritual and they’d killed him. Their head was spinning--whether from blood loss or shock they didn’t know. They stumbled to the side, and fell to their hands and knees at the edge of the broken platform. They vomited into the abyss, coughing up bile. They were shivering despite the heat, and they could feel their arms begin to give out. Not wanting to topple over the edge, they shifted their weight back, drawing their knees up to their chest and curling up on the floor of the battle chamber. The shaking wasn’t stopping, why couldn’t they stop shaking.

Cyrus Drake had shown up. Hadn’t been willing to fight his homicidal brother though. He’d left that bit of fun to the traumatized fourteen-year-old. Cyrus had used the crystal of knowledge--the crystal that was filled with the memories of the last fight that had made Ryan cry--to summon the spirit of Sylvia Drake. She pleaded with her husband, and Ryan had nearly collapsed right then and there at the sound of her voice.  
“I love you… please release me… be happy and move on.” Ryan had cowered behind their teacher as the ghost spoke, trying not to cry at her words. Release her… release her from her torment. How Ryan longed to be released from their own torment. At least Sylvia was dead. She couldn’t feel pain any longer. Malistaire had laughed at the ghost of his wife, thinking it to be an illusion.

“I expected better of you, brother! You thought you could trick me with a mere illusion?” He had waved a dismissive hand at the spirit, and focused his attention on his brother, eyes narrowing in fury “You’ll pay for evoking my beloved Sylvia.” He had swept his staff in a wide arc, throwing sparks of wild magic at Professor Drake and the ghost. They’d both disappeared in showers of white hot embers. Malistaire hadn’t seemed to see Ryan, his eyes wild with fervor. He had mumbled to himself as he stepped back over to the lectern “Now for my great work… the summoning of the Dragon Titan.” Ryan inhaled sharply, and stepped forward, holding their wand with a white knuckle grip. Ryan hadn’t even spoken before Malistaire scoffed at them, not even bothering to look up from his reading, “Stand aside, young wizard… you cannot hope to stop me.”

He was right. Ryan really had no chance against Malistaire. But that didn’t mean they weren’t still going to fight. That was all they really knew how to do after all. They’d been fighting for so long. They began to summon a battle sigil, their nervous, shaky fingers completely muddling it up. Ryan had stopped, breathing in deeply before trying again. That time they’d succeeded. They wished they'd summoned that stupid sigil.

Ryan stopped thinking, their head filled with a heavy buzz as they shuddered on the floor, racked with guilt. They forced themself to trembling feet, clutching at the ripped sleeves of the robes they wore beneath their armor. Blood dripped in rivulets down their arms, accumulating at their fingertips in fat drops that splashed to the ground, drying from red to brown in seconds on the hot surface. Ryan felt the world begin to spin as they stood up to their full height, and they nearly fell over again, only barely managing to stabilize themself. They took a few staggering steps towards the circle where the sigil had formed, and dropped into a crouch in order to better pick up the blood-flecked cards from where they lay scattered on a distressingly wide stain. Ryan slowly reshuffled their cards, replacing them in their ornate deck box, and buckling it shut. Most of their cards had some sort of stains on them, and perfect, bloody fingerprints began to mark the slick papers as Ryan put them away. They frantically began to wipe the cards on the skirt piece of their armor, eyes beginning to brim with tears as they only succeeded in further smudging the cards. They had to clean them, they couldn’t show up home with the evidence of their failures written all over their cards. Someone would see. They desperately scrubbed at a vampire card with several drops of blood staining it’s surface. The still bleeding cuts on Ryan’s arms were impeding the process, coloring the card faster than they could scrub it. The tears in their eyes began to well over, and one or two drops splashed onto the card, warping the paper slightly.

Ryan broke down sobbing, convulsing with every breath they took, the vampire card crumpling in their fist. Their world narrowed, ears buzzing and eyes buzzing and mind buzzing and all they could do was think but they couldn’t think clearly. There were too many thoughts in their head but it all boiled down to the same few words.

“I’ve failed you, Sylvia… all I wanted was to free you from Death. I’ve done so much to help bring you back”

“Oh, Malistaire… I’m in a better place… come to me.” Sylvia had beckoned her murderous husband to her, embracing him. “Rest now, my love… you can rest now.”

You can rest now.

You can rest now.

What a fucking joke. Ryan didn’t think they’d ever rest again. And why, for Merlin’s sake was Malistaire allowed to rest. Malistaire had robbed and murdered and left a rut of destruction a mile wide in his wake as he rampaged across the galaxy, and he was allowed peace? Allowed to leave with the spirit of his wife he had so long tried to reunite with? Why was he allowed to rest when Ryan wasn’t. Ryan began to laugh. A small bubbling thing that escaped out of them of its own accord. The peals of laughter grew wild and painful, developing into a series of hiccups. Each laugh tore at something deep within their chest, and they dug their fingers roughly into their sliced up arms in an attempt to stop the agonizing laughter.

The laughter slowly petered away into sobs. They didn’t know for how long they kneeled there next to Malistaire’s corpse, but eventually there was a wooshing sound as someone teleported into the space behind them.

“You’ve done it…”

Ryan didn’t think that they’d ever be done, no matter what anyone said.


	31. Chapter 31

Raindrops pierced through Ryan’s robes, each droplet stinging their skin. They were cold, raw, and shivering as they walked directly through the streets of Triton avenue. The dried blood that caked their arms flaked off under the spray of water, rehydrating and leaving a trail of palest red in the puddles they walked through. Ryan supposed that they could have teleported, but the bone deep exhaustion that was plaguing them made it difficult to think straight, let alone use magic. They probably could’ve been defeated by one of the rotting fodders that they brushed past, but none of the creatures lurking in the roadways of Triton seemed willing to fight them. They bumped shoulders with them, not seeming to notice Ryan’s presence among them. As they neared the entrance of the Haunted Cave, the creatures seemed to grow more and more disinterested in avoiding them. A scarlet Screamer passed right through them, and Ryan’s very bones seemed to rattle shaking them to their already shivering core. Ryan wasn’t exactly sure of the time, but it must have been early evening. They’d passed students coming and going from classes (none of them had stopped to help of course, Ryan showing up bloody and dissociating was unfortunately not an uncommon occurrence), so the school day must have been over, but it was likely that the necromancers were still in the classroom. Ryan hoped that they were still in the classroom.

Haunted cave was… for lack of a better term… hauntingly familiar to Ryan. The mist that swirled around their feet seemed to part before them, and they staggered, shivering, down the grimy streets. Even the flocks of normally aggressive bloodbats avoided them, put off by some invisible force. They dragged themself towards the sound of soft voices that they could hear from down the street. They grew nearer to the muffled talking and warm light, and squinted their eyes to avoid the glare. The buzzing in their ears grew louder, and the crackling of electricity joined the meaningless white noise, growing more and more overwhelming. They felt their skin grow tacky and smelled burning rubber. It was as if they were about to teleport. The magic flourished inside of them, seeming to expand until it filled them fully. It began to hurt the more it swelled, and Ryan was forced to stop. They clutched at their head

\--YoucanrestnowyoucanrestnowyoucanrestnowYOUCANRESTNOW--

* * *

Cori had been inconsolable all day. Malorn had tried in vain to keep her spirits up, but the methods that he’d been employing to keep the necromancers distracted for the month it had been since any of them had seen Ryan simply weren’t working on her. She had refused to tell any of them why all day, but it was fairly clear, at least to Valerian. She was missing Ryan. She had been clutching onto a scrap of fabric so tightly that none of the necromancers were able to discern what it could be, and Malorn had left her out of today’s lesson. She had scarcely talked all day, and was curled around herself on a pile of pillows in the corner. They’d taken it in turns with who sat with her. Right now it was Gabriel, who rested on the cushions next to her, his head resting on her shoulder. As Valerian watched the pair, Gabriel but a careful hand on her knee, and began to rub circles into the fabric. Cori startled softly, and looked down at Gabriel, shooting him a watery smile. She shifted, wringing her hands together and let out a trembling breath. She murmured something to Gabriel that Valerian couldn’t hear over the chatter of the other necromancers. But Gabriel seemed pleased with himself, and moved to take her hands in one of his. She let go of the fabric, and Gabriel took it carefully from her, pressing a kiss to her hands in acknowledgement. He unfolded the fabric with utmost gentleness, and his face caught when he recognized it as the dueling hood Cori had leant to Ryan almost a year ago. Valerian stood, needing a breath from the suddenly suffocating atmosphere of the room. Gabriel looked up at Valerian’s sudden movement, raising an eyebrow in an unspoken query as he handed the hood back to Cori. Valerian waved him off, smiling weakly and fluttering his hands in noncommittal gesture. He mouthed,

“Need some air” and stepped quietly out the door, leaving it open behind him. The air of Haunted cave wasn’t particularly conducive to breathing--it was stuffy and damp, and always chilled Valerian down to the bone. He studied the sodden ground with its patchy grass and rows and rows of neatly planted vegetables and flowers. The honeysickle in particular was looking rather lovely. He bent at the knees and inhaled. Honeysickle was an acquired scent, sweet and nectary, with undertones of something that had a deeper, almost rotten scent. It reminded Valerian of some of the rare potions ingredients he sometimes used, durian in particular. Valerian whistled out a breath, and directed his attention to the street. Rotting fodders shuffled about, the field guard, hovering unnaturally past. None of them looked at Valerian, which wasn’t all that unusual. Something was wrong though. A figure was limping alongside the rotting fodders, but clearly wasn’t one of the ghoulish corpses that inhabited the cave. It was dressed in some kind of armor that was spattered with blood, the sleeves of the robes beneath the breastplate were torn and even bloodier than the armor. The visor of the helmet was knocked down so that Valerian couldn’t make out the face. Was this some sort of new variant on a skeleton that had somehow found its way to the cave? As he watched, the air seemed to ripple around the figure, growing dark and discolored. Valerian was overwhelmed with a wave of the scent of burning rubber, and a loud crackling began to fill the air. Valerian cursed himself for leaving his wand inside, and took a frightened step backwards. The noise and smell grew ever stronger, and the figure suddenly let out a keening wail and fell to its knees, hand ripping the helmet off of its head. The figure’s hands gripped at its statically standing hair, and it let out another bitten off scream. The figure rocked back and forth, head dropping between its knees. It suddenly looked up hands dropping to claw at its arms and Valerian could make out its face.

Ryan.

Without thinking he rushed into the street, ignoring to fodders and field guards, and dropped to his knees beside the wailing necromancer.

“Shh shh shh… Ryan.” Valerian tried to put a hand of Ryan’s shoulder, but at the touch they shrieked, and flinched back. They began to let out a series of pained sounding screams through tightly clenched teeth, animalistic and panicked. Valerian raised his hands, trying to convey a sense of calm, despite the utter panic he was feeling. Ryan was a mess, blood staining their arms and face, their hair wild with the static shock it sometimes received when they used too much magic. Their eyes were wild and brimmed with tears of pain. Something else was wrong with Ryan’s eyes though, they weren’t… right. The pupils were blown too wide, turning their eyes to inky pools of fear. What little Valerian could see of their irises were the color of slick oil, shimmering with rainbows. In fact, the very air around them seemed to glimmer with the same dark rainbows. Ryan’s fingers dug into their arms and Valerian winced in sympathy, not wanting to touch them again for fear that he might provoke another panic attack in the poor frightened wizard.

“Malorn!” Valerian shouted, “Malorn!!” Footsteps thundered across the cobblestones as the rest of the class stormed out the door and into the street. Shouts of alarm and panic echoed around the cave as the necromancers clustered behind Valerian.

“What happened.” Malorn asked,

“I… I don’t know… they just…” Valerian was at a loss for words. Beginning to hyperventilate himself.

“Ryan?” called a soft voice. Cori. She crouched down next to Valerian, and was carefully holding out the tattered dueling hood, trembling with the effort not to cry. Ryan’s swinging gaze locked on the fabric, before looking back up at Cori. They reached out hesitantly, fingers brushing against the fabric, before grabbing onto Cori’s wrist, seeming to test if she was solid or not. The noise and smell died down, and Valerian could see Ryan’s eyes return to their normal color. Their hair fell flat again, and they seemed to grow slightly more aware.

“Cori?”

“Yeah Ryry… It’s me. You’re back.”

“Promised didn’t I?” They said, and let Cori pull them into a hug. Their face was still relatively vacant, but they allowed themself to be ushered inside. Valerian remained crouched in the street as the rest of the necromancers filed inside the classroom. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, pulling him up to his feet.

“I didn’t mean to set them off I didn’t--”

“Val… Val hey. You couldn’t have done anything to stop them going off like that. Everything is going to be okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Valerian let out a heavy breath and allowed himself to be steered inside after the other necromancers.

* * *

Ryan remained remarkably docile throughout their classmates careful ministrations. Their armor was removed and piled up in a basket beneath the staircase, and they drank four of Valerian’s healing draughts with little complaint. Cori never left their side until they had to change robes, and she whispered soothingly to them the entire time. Liam was put in charge of the rest of Ryan’s belongings, and had sorted through them, before placing their bags upstairs by their unused bed. He had taken a sniff at the congealed remains in some of Ryan’s potions vials, and was considering handing them off to Valerian because they absolutely could not be healing draughts. However, when he turned to hand them off to the other boy, he found him folded in Gabriel’s arms, looking lost. Liam decided that the questionable contents of the potion bottles could wait for now.

Ryan was looking better in a set of Cori’s too big robes, color coming back to their face. Their eyes were wide with confusion. Things eventually settled down, and they moved to the second floor, lounging together in what had become a familiar pile. Ryan was perched in Cori’s lap, their arms wrapped tightly around her. The rest of the necromancers filled in the space around them and Ryan hummed in content, pressing their face into the crook of Cori’s neck.

“I like it like this…” they mumbled, “I can barely tell who’s who…”

“What?” Marcus asked, a hint of a soft laugh coming through his gruff voice.

“It’s like…” They batted a tired hand, “I know that everyone’s here because all of your colors are here… I can feel your magic you know? I spend so much time alone with mine that I forget what you guys feel like when you’re with me like this.” They yawned, a gesture repeated around the circle, and let their limbs droop. They were clearly holding back tears when they next spoke, “I think I can really stay this time guys…” They sniffled, and lifted their face from its resting spot to wipe their runny nose on their sleeve. “I did it.”

“We’re so proud of you kiddo.” Malorn said, his voice cracking slightly as he reached forward to ruffle Ryan’s hair. The students sat in silence, eyelids drooping with exhaustion that they’d pick up on from Ryan. It really wasn’t that late, and they’d normally be wide awake, but the excitement of the evening was too much even for stoic Sarai, and they could feel themselves gradually drifting to sleep.

The clear notes of a bell rang out from the direction of Ryan’s pack, and the young wizard tensed up. They looked sharply over their shoulder, fear and grief present on their face, and stood sharply, walking over to their things. They pulled Ambrose’s scroll out of their backpack, and held it up, sending a lost, desperate look at their still piled together friends.

“I--”

“No.” Cori stood, and made it over to Ryan in three long strides. “I’m not letting Ambrose take you away from us. Not again.” She gripped Ryan’s trembling hands in hers, and gently pulled the scroll from their grip. She opened it, skimmed the writing and let the entire roll of parchment flop open. “Celestia can find another hero.” The scroll started to ring again, and before it could finish its terrible chiming, she took the parchment in hand and ripped it in two. Ryan flinched as Cori dropped the pieces to the hardwood floor. “If Ambrose wants you to fight his battles for him, he’ll have to go through us. We’re not letting you slip through our fingers again.” Ryan pressed over their mouth, eyes welling up with tears.

“Yeah?” They asked.

“Yeah.”


End file.
